


Better Lucky

by gallifrey_skies



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-30
Updated: 2016-05-08
Packaged: 2018-05-30 02:51:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 44
Words: 76,520
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6405784
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gallifrey_skies/pseuds/gallifrey_skies
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>MAY THE HORSE BE WITH YOU!</p><p>Rey's dream job involves a lot more dirt that most people's -- but she loves it just the same. As a hot-walker working for up-and-coming trainer Poe Dameron, she spends her days working with racehorses alongside her friend Finn, including talented race-mare BB Eight. But when start-up millionaire Ben Solo moves his barn in next door, things are about to get really interesting at Jakku Downs Racetrack... Star Wars horse racing AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Rey threaded her rake through the soft dirt and sawdust of the shedrow, weaving complicated patterns of little furrows over the marks of hooves. The morning was drawing to a close; the sun was fully up, shining ardently over a beautiful spring day, having banished the chill of pre-dawn, and the last set of horses was out. The rest, having been fed, exercised, and bathed, drowsed in their stalls or nibbled lazily at full hay nets hung by their stalls. There was a general air of merriment which might have puzzled the casual viewer, as it was 11AM on a Monday morning, but Mondays and Tuesdays at Jakku Downs were dark days, the racetracker’s weekend. There wasn’t an ice chest on the backside that didn’t have at least one six pack stashed in it today. Though they had arrived long before the sun rose, today the residents of Barn 12 at Jakku Downs would head home before it set, and that was cause for celebration.  
  
Finn appeared from the dimness of an empty stall as Rey and her rake passed by. He looked as grimy as she felt. Sawdust particles clung to his sweaty brow; it was getting hotter every day, and he couldn’t wait until Resistance Racing Stables moved north for the summer. Soon it would be positively unbearable. “What is this, a zen garden?” he asked, gesturing towards the serpentine rake tracks.  
  
Rey responded to the gentle rib with a good-natured smirk. “Dameron likes it,” she replied. “He thinks it’s pretty.”  
  
Finn smiled. “Here,” he said, tossing her a pair of heavy ice boots, still damp from previous application. “Dameron wants ice on the gelding when he comes back.” Rey nodded and returned the rake to its hook, entering the small, dingy tack-room to fill the small elastic pockets on the boots with ice. A dusty white-board covered almost the entirety of one wall, listing horses’ names and training regimens, entries for this week and medications to administer.  
  
She paused, inhaling the warm scent of hay and sweet feed and oiled leather, wondering how she could have ever been so lucky. To be working -- as a lowly hot-walker, sure -- for 10 to 16 hours a day, all right -- for less than minimum wage, well -- but to be working for up-and-coming trainer Poe Dameron, with the horses bred and owned by the legendary Leia Organa, senator, heiress, and practical racetrack royalty. So maybe her dream job involved more sweat and dirt and less money and fame than most people’s. It was still her dream job and better yet, the job was _hers_ . Two years ago she could never have imagined actually working here, but here she was, and here she would stay.  
  
Every morning when her alarm went off at 4AM sharp, doggone it, she _smiled._  
  
She heard the staccato of hooves and the jingle of tack and knew that the final set had returned from the track. Finn’s gray gelding, one of five horses in his care as groom, swished past the door in an excited jog. Rey exited the tack-room and handed off the filled ice boots to Finn. “You catching him for me, Oxford?” Finn asked, as the gray and his exercise rider jogged around the corner of the shedrow. Rey grimaced at the now unfortunately familiar nickname, a reference to her accent.  
  
“No, I--”  
  
“Rey!” A voice bellowed. “Come catch the pony!” She spun.  
  
Poe Dameron rode in, black curls bouncing, mounted on a squat, shaggy animal that was most definitely not a Thoroughbred. Chewbacca the pony-horse had, as always, a long-suffering expression on his face and a sag in his step. Rey leaped to catch the reins as Dameron swung down from the pony. She’d gotten this promotion -- if grooming the pony counted as a promotion -- just this week and was determined to do an excellent job. If she proved herself, she would eventually get promoted from hotwalker to groom in her own right.  
  
Chewbacca regarded her mournfully as she led him back to his stall to pull off his tack. “It’s not so bad,” she told him conversationally. “Soon you’ll have a lovely cool bath and all the hay you can eat.” He lipped at her shirt companionably.

 

* * *

 

The pony washed, cooled out, and returned to his stall with fresh water, Rey wandered down the shedrow, absently peering into each stall as she passed. Many of the horses were down, napping peacefully in the deep straw. The morning was winding down; the bustle and hubbub of the backside in full swing was quieting. Only a few horses passed by, spooking and shying sometimes at the clean leg-wraps hung to dry over the railings, blowing like ribbons in the gentle breeze.  
  
She paused at stall #38. The pride and joy of Resistance Racing Stable dozed inside where she stood, a forgotten strand of hay hanging out of the side of her mouth. BB Eight was a strapping chestnut mare, as orange as a new penny, with striking white stockings on all four feet and a wide blaze down her face. She flicked an ear at Rey as she heard the girl approach, eyes half-open.  
  
“Good girl,” Rey murmured. This mare had won more money at three years old than Rey would make in her entire life, probably. She also bit, but only if she felt you were not paying her the attention she deserved. Her father was a champion and her mother the daughter of champions, and BB Eight was well on her way to being a champion in her own right. She was royalty, and she knew it.  
  
Finn’s voice snapped Rey out of her reverie. “Oxford!” he called. “Come hold the gray for me; I’ve got tack to clean.”  
  
The gray gelding stood in his stall, head over the stallguard, his legs laced into the long, heavy ice boots. Finn had him by the halter, as he expertly attached a lead line. Rey sighed. Some horses could be depended upon to stand quietly while in the ice boots; others were sure to make an honest attempt to chew them off. Rey loved horses, but even she was happy to admit that some of them were absolute idiots.  
  
Rey took the lead and flipped over a feed bucket, seating herself on top. Stars, but it felt good to sit. She was suddenly sharply aware of the fatigue in her muscles and the drowsiness in her head. It wouldn’t be the first time she fell asleep in a similar position.  
  
Finn had hung several bridles from a large metal hook, and was methodically scrubbing every strap with a sponge soaked in saddle soap. “He’s in Wednesday,” he said, nodding at the gelding, who was tickling Rey’s cheek with his whiskers, perhaps intentionally.  
  
Rey grinned. “How do you like his chances?” she asked, stroking the gray’s nose affectionately.  
  
“I don’t,” Finn replied with a chuckle. “Once he figures out how to change leads at the quarter pole I might like them a little better,” he explained.  
  
“Any dark day plans?” Rey asked.  
  
“Gate crew is having a cook-out at 3,” Finn said. “Probably swing by. You?”  
  
“I am going to take a _long_ shower,” said Rey luxuriously, “and my hair is going to dry _all the way_ before I get dirty again. Might make an appearance at the cook-out afterwards, though.”  
  
Dameron appeared from down the shedrow. “How long?” he asked, nodding toward the gray.  
  
“Fifteen minutes,” Finn replied with a glance at the clock on the stable wall.  
  
Ducking into the stall with the gray, Dameron carefully unlaced one of the boots, running his hand down the gelding’s leg slowly as he concentrated, Rey knew, on any trace of heat he might find there, an indication of injury.  
  
“He’s good,” Dameron said, then glared at Finn and Rey in mock anger. “What are you two still doing here?” he asked. “It’s dark day! Go home! Take a nap!”  
  
Rey smiled at him. Though he took his job and charges very seriously, so seriously as to seem gruff at first, Poe had a kind heart and took as good care of his employees as he did his horses. Though she’d been a bit frightened of him at first, she had quickly learned that he was really very friendly -- as long as you kept your work up to his standards.  
  
“What are you looking for, with him?” she asked, gesturing to the gray. This was another thing about Poe -- he was infinitely willing to impart his considerable horse sense on anyone who asked. This had earned him the nickname “Professor,” though never to his face.  
  
“He’s bucked shins before,” Dameron explained. He crouched, taking Rey’s hand and placing it in a certain location on the horse’s lower front leg. “Once they do it they’re more likely to do it again. A hitch in front and heat right here -- that’s the shin acting up. Feel any heat?”  
  
Rey shook her head. “Good,” Dameron continued, smiling at her. “Neither did I.” He stood. “Put the tack down, Finn,” he said jovially. “You cleaned it yesterday, you’ll clean it tomorrow.”  
  
Finn nodded in acquiescence, gathering the tack and carrying to back to the tack-room.  
  
“See you tomorrow --” Rey began, but was halted by the sudden loud noise of a diesel engine. As she watched, a huge, sleek transport truck pulled into the space between Barns 11 and 12. She and Finn gaped. Jakku Downs wasn’t a dump, but it wasn’t a first-tier track either. Such equipment was rare here -- mostly you saw smaller trailers pulled by pick-up trucks, worn but presentable, with an appropriate amount of rust. A vehicle like _this_ easily ran a quarter of a million dollars.  
  
It was glossy black, and on the side glistened a logo in blood red, circular and almost like a stylized flower, instantly recognizable to anyone with even a passing interest in horse racing.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A quick glossary for those unfamiliar with the lingo! Will add more terms as I come across them.
> 
> Shedrow -- open air stable for racehorses; kind of a reversed barn, where the stalls face outward and the aisle runs around the outside of the building  
> Backside -- the opposite side of the track from the grandstand; location of the housing for horses and people  
> Set -- group of horses that are sent out to the track together. Usually 10-12 sets, of 2-5 horses apiece depending on the size of the barn, starting at 6AM through about 11AM  
> Dark day -- day when no racing is scheduled at a particular track  
> Hot-walker -- low man on the totem pole. Walks and bathes horses who come back hot and sweaty from exercising  
> Groom -- step up from hotwalker. Manages care (cleaning stalls, brushing, tacking up, wrapping legs, etc) of up to five racehorses at a time.  
> Exercise rider -- rides horses on the track in the morning.  
> Pony -- short for “pony-horse”. Any non-racehorse that is used to lead racehorses to or from the track, or to jog alongside. Not necessarily small. Many are retired racehorses  
> Mare -- female horse. Technically one 4 years or older, but often used interchangeably with filly, which is a younger female horse.  
> Gelding -- castrated male horse.  
> Colt -- young male horse.  
> Stallion -- older (intact) male horse.  
> Bucked shins -- a common, minor injury to the lower front leg (similar to shin splints in humans)  
> Points -- the Derby field is determined by a point system, with more points being assigned to more prestigious races  
> Bandages -- ankle wraps made of polar fleece (usually); more to protect the heel from the dirt than to provide support to the joint  
> Change leads -- when horses run, one front leg moves out farther than the other; this is called the “lead” -- horses are often trained to change on command, especially when tired  
> Quarter pole -- pole on the track that marks ¼ mile from the finish line  
> Paddock -- where horses gather for the next race, and are saddled for the race  
> Post parade -- the trek from the paddock to the starting gate


	2. Chapter 2

The black van was instantly a swarm of activity. A red-haired man stepped down from the driver’s seat and began issuing orders to the grooms who emerged from the back. Rey noticed with a wince that the grooms were dressed in _uniforms ___, black collared shirts emblazoned with the red logo -- and with _sleeves ___. She immediately pitied them in the heat. Regardless of attire, they worked efficiently. Ramps were pulled out, halters were afixed, and horses began to be unloaded.  
  
“ _He’s ___stabling horses here now?” Finn asked in a low voice, obviously shocked.  
  
Dameron was frowning. “Apparently,” he said. “First I’ve heard of it.”  
  
“Why would the First Order Stud stable horses here?” Rey asked. “Don’t they have a private training facility upstate?”  
  
“Yeah,” Finn said slowly. “I worked there for a year.”  
  
“Really?” Rey asked. She’s never heard this before. “What was it like?”  
  
“Hux runs such a tight ship even the _horses _ __don’t dare to misbehave,” said Finn. “And--well, you see. _Uniforms. _____”  
  
“Maybe he got sick of shipping in every week,” Dameron opined. “Nobody else is running in the region right now.”  
  
“That him?” Rey asked, looking at the red-haired man, who was surprisingly dressed in an identical outfit as his staff, his collar stiff and starched. Observing him, she could guess that he wore it _willingly ___. He looked like that kind of guy.  
  
“Ginger in dressed in black who looks like he just bit into a lemon?” asked Finn. “Yep. That’s him. And that’s his assistant trainer, Phasma.” Finn gestured to an incredibly tall woman with close-cropped blonde hair who was leading a horse down the ramp.  
  
“Assistant trainer?” Rey asked dryly. “Thought for sure she was a jockey.”  
  
Finn smirked at her, as a second man emerged from the cab of the huge van. “Who’s _that ___?” Rey gasped. He was imperiously tall, dressed entirely in black but lacking, Rey noted, the red logo. His pale face was framed by a large amount of black hair. He was watching the staff intently as they unloaded the horses, a deep frown on his face, but he wasn’t speaking to anyone.  
  
“That’s Ben Solo,” Finn said.  
  
Rey looked at Finn in shock. She knew exactly who Ben Solo was -- the estranged son of Leia Organa, racetrack royalty himself by birth and by the fact that he'd built his own wildly successful stable from the ground up, obscenely wealthy from selling a company that did… well, she had no idea, something complicated with technology -- but she would never have dreamed he’d be _here ___, that he’d ride in on a horse van like a stablehand. It was absurd.  
  
Poe chuckled darkly. “This is going to get awkward,” he said.  
  
“Why would they put him next door to us? To her stable?” Finn asked, mostly rhetorically.  
  
“Have you met him before?” Rey asked Finn curiously. She was still watching the man in black -- watching him watching the unloaded horses being walked, even crouching down now and then, looking ridiculous as he folded his stupidly long legs, to watch the gait of each animal.  
  
“Yeah,” said Finn. “He’s one of those weird owners. Not content to just stand in the winner’s circle. Always hanging around the barn, looking at things, asking questions, having _opinions ___. It drove Hux nuts.”  
  
Poe smiled. “You know what they say about owners,” he drawled.  
  
“Keep them in the dark and covered with plenty of shit,” said Finn and Rey in unison. It was one of Dameron’s favorite refrains, made all the funnier by the fact that nobody could keep Leia Organa in the dark, and heaven help the poor fellow who tried to give her shit.  
  
Any follow-up thoughts regarding mushrooms were suppressed, however, by the appearance, at the top of the ramp, of the biggest, blackest horse Rey had ever seen. Massive, muscled, with an arched neck and regal head, the newly emerged colt trumpeted a challenge before he was even down the ramp. He was coal black and impossibly shiny, and he descended the ramp with the aplomb of an emperor. Reaching the bottom, he pranced a dangerous rhythm into the dirt, half-rearing away from his groom as he struck out with a deadly hoof. A second groom came running with another lead, and with a man on each side to weigh him down, the colt was escorted to his stall without further disruption. The man in black -- Ben Solo -- watched him silently, intently.  
  
“That’s…” said Rey. There was only one horse _that ___could be.  
  
“It’s Kylo Ren,” Finn supplied. _He ___required no introduction. The colt was reportedly as crazy as he was talented. He’d reared and nearly flipped in the gate before the Fountain of Youth and had still won in a canter, by nearly fourteen lengths. He’d bolted during the post parade before the Breeder’s Cup Juvenile and still had ground out a handy win against what was widely considered one of the best fields in years. He had been unanimously voted 2 year-old champion last year, and was the early favorite for the Kentucky Derby -- and deservedly so. He was already worth millions and it seemed his star would only rise.  
  
“Here?” Rey asked in disbelief. It was equivalent to Harrison Ford showing up to your middle school play production of _Indiana Jones and the Dastardly Algebra Test -- The Musical ___, donning a card-board costume and singing along.  
  
Dameron chuckled. “Crafty bastard,” he muttered, a hint of admiration in his voice. “He’s targeting the Resurgent Stakes here next month.”  
  
“The Resurgent?” Rey asked, puzzled. It was a graded race, to be sure, but it was a backwater kind of graded race at a backwater track. Even the winner rarely made the gate on the first Saturday in May. Kylo Ren could probably win even if he gave the local talent a furlong’s head start.  
  
“His colt has a target on his back; Hux knows it. The colt already has the points to make the Derby field. He’ll get an easy win here and roll into Louisville with a fresh horse.”  
  
Rey gaped. “It’s what I would do,” Dameron concluded with a shrug.  
  
The last of the horses had now left the van, and the stable-hands came back outside to roll up the ramps and clear the rest of their gear from various compartments. Hux re-emerged and busied himself with hanging a huge black banner from the railing in front of his newly claimed shedrow. The massive sign had that familiar red icon, and in blood-red letters edged in white: “First Order Stud.”  
  
Finn glanced at the similar banner hanging from the railing in front of the trio. It was burnt orange, with a white symbol almost like the fleur-de-lis and the the title “Resistance Racing Stable.” He made a mournful face.  
  
“His is bigger than ours.”  
  
Rey smirked at him, but the expression froze on her face as Ben Solo suddenly turned on his heel to face the three from across the yard. His eyes were icy and calculating. Dameron instantly looked away, very interested all the sudden in examining the cobwebbed rafters. Finn busied himself with adjusting the burnt orange banner and smoothing its ragged corners, while Rey lunged for her rake.  
  
Out of the corner of her eye, as she guiltily raked the shedrow, she saw him observe them carefully for a long moment, before he turned back around and vanished into the shadow of the other barn.

  



	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wasn't intending on switching POV's for this, but I got to writing Ben and just... couldn't help it. He wants to tell his own story. I'll probably alternate back and forth between Rey and Ben from now on.
> 
> This is fairly short but the plot is still pre-heating, so hang in there.

Ben dismounted from the cab of the horse transport, his body rigid with tension, his fists balled, his boots --soft leather, not steel-toed; he could almost hear his father’s voice reprimanding him -- stomping into the soft ground. It had been a long drive, and Hux didn’t believe in stopping for snacks, nor in allowing anybody to touch the radio dial, nor did he find it funny when Phasma continued to call it a road trip and asked for increasingly improbable detours to see landmarks such as the world’s biggest rubber band ball and the Grand Canyon.

Ben stared at the stirred-up dust already settling on his clothes with distaste. The smells, the sounds, the _feel_ of being on the backside again held a painful form of nostalgia -- like getting walloped in the face with a yearbook, he thought sardonically. He’d been hanging around the training track at his private facility for a few months now, but there was something vastly different about being _here_.

About being -- and he clamped the thought down even as it surfaced, unwilling to look it in the face -- about being _home_.

And that was fucking sad, wasn’t it? That it was _here_ he’d spent the majority (no, plurality; he was a senator’s son, he knew the difference) of his childhood? Not that it was saying much. His early life had been so fractured, being shuttled back and forth between wherever his mother was campaigning and wherever his father’s horses were stabled at the moment, back and forth and here and there, sleeping in a thousand hotel rooms and in the living quarters of his father’s beat-up old horse trailer, on the bed that folded out of the couch, underneath dusty trophies and win pictures of horses long dead, next to the stove that had stopped working before he was born.

He’d been in the way in meetings, in the galas, in the solemn halls of government buildings, and he’d been in the way in the shedrow. They’d make him call, every week, the parent he wasn’t with, and he knew the calls got in the way, too, when Leia would answer breezily as she rushed from one place to another, when Han wouldn’t answer at all, even after Ben had methodically gone through the entire list of pay phones for whatever track his father was at. And when he’d gone away for college -- and the stupid dorm room he lived in the first two years was the longest place he’d ever lived anywhere, and how _pathetic_ was that? -- he’d kept up the calls, for a while at least. But when he realized it had been a few weeks since the last one, he’d decided to wait for them to call first, just to see. He’d wondered which one would. He’d wondered for weeks.

Eventually, he’d stopped wondering.

Being back here had the same feel as an abscess being popped -- it was sharp pain and it was sweet relief and it was going to hurt worse before it healed.

It would probably leave a nasty scar.

Hux was ignoring whatever existential crisis his employer was going through, as he usually did, and issued orders in the crisp, authoritative way he did everything. And now the horses were being unloaded, all as carefree as horses always were, ears pricked and nostrils flaring, taking in their new surroundings. They were racehorses. This was a racetrack. They were home, as far as they were concerned.

One whinnied, starting a flurry of answering neighs that echoed down the rows of barns, a long ripple of _hello, hello, I’m here, I’m here too_.

Ben took a deep breath and focused himself on watching the horses, watching them walk, analyzing their gaits and _wishing_ his video equipment wasn’t on a FedEx truck somewhere between here and his training facility.

The grooms ignored him, like they always did. Once they’d gotten over their initial curiosity at his presence, and realized that he wasn’t going to order them about, they’d taken to treating him like just another piece of furniture. It didn’t matter one whit to them as long as he stayed out of their way.

And he knew how to do that. There was probably nothing he knew how to do better than that.

 

* * *

 

He hadn’t wanted to turn around, towards Barn 12, towards his new neighbors -- and _that_ was a fucking slap in the face, wasn’t it, that it was _them_ , that he couldn’t even merit residence in the barn he’d grown up in. He knew what banner hung there, rippling in the wind, and he knew what face was there, a face he hadn’t seen for fifteen years or more, since they had been kids together, since their fathers had trained the Organa horses and they’d built forts from hay bales and done dangerous stunts on the ever-patient stable ponies when nobody was watching.

But he did turn, finally, and he did see the banner, the same colors and symbols as the silks his mother’s horses had carried to glory all his life, and he saw a groom surreptitiously adjusting the perfectly level banner and a terrified-looking girl earnestly pretending to rake.

And Poe Dameron, of course.

The boy who had never been in the way in the shedrow, who had taken to the track like a fish to water, like a man to his destiny. Who had never needed or wanted anything more than this, than dust and dirt and hoof-beats and horse-shoes and the endless pre-dawn days and the solid, tense feel of a horse between your legs -- never wanted anything more than to continue the legacy he had been handed.

The man who was living the life Han Solo’s son was always supposed to lead.

The man who had grown into the man that Han Solo had always wanted his son to be.

Ben Solo stalked into the dimness of Barn 12, wondering for the millionth time why the hell he’d decided to come back here.


	4. Chapter 4

4AM. Rey’s alarm was going off. She sat up and silenced it. The first few weeks had been painful, it was true -- being dragged out of sleep at what was, to normal people, an ungodly hour, day after day, week after week. There was no such thing as  _ days off _ for racetrackers; horses needed to eat regardless of weekends and holidays. But her body had adjusted quickly and it felt as natural now as anything. Horses were morning people --  _ early  _ morning people -- and if you loved them, you learned to live with it.

Her roommate, exercise rider Jessika Pava, was already dressing in the dim artificial glow of the street light outside the window. The shoebox of a room they shared had a bare concrete floor and cinder block walls; Rey had taken to taping win pictures to the her side just to break up the monotony of the decor. It wasn’t the Ritz, that was for certain, but it was a handful of steps away from the barns, and a short commute seems like a really,  _ really  _ good thing at four in the morning. Rey got out of bed, pulled on a reasonably clean pair of jeans -- after a while nothing was ever  _ really  _ clean around here -- and laced up her cracked leather boots. She swung by the communal bathroom to splash water on her face and brush her teeth perfunctorily, and then it was off to Barn 12, her footsteps quiet in the pre-dawn chill. She loved this time of day -- it felt as though the whole world was holding its breath, waiting for something amazing to happen.

Finn was already in one of his horses’ stalls, shoveling out dirty straw to be replaced with clean bedding. He smiled at her as she unhooked the feed and water buckets from the inside of the stall, setting them on the ground next to a long line of others. Her first task of the day was rinsing and scrubbing the scuffed plastic. It was back-breaking work, and by the end of it she knew she would be soaked, but at least as the weather warmed the prospect of being damp for the rest of the morning was not so dire. She passed Dameron, who was writing on the small white-board on the wall near the office -- who was in each set, who was jogging, who was galloping, who was working out. It was a logistical juggling act -- one groom couldn’t have too many going out at once, as they couldn’t possibly have time to prepare multiple horses, exercise riders had to be coordinated according to their skills and strengths, horses that were working alone or in company needed to go out at the appropriate times so that the clockers would catch them. And every horse that went out needed to be in four pristine burnt orange bandages, one on each fetlock, a clean saddle-cloth with a perfectly white Resistance logo on it, groomed to perfection and shining like only a well-maintained racehorse can shine, not a trace of a tangle or wisp of straw in mane or tail. Dameron ran that kind of operation. It was something to be proud of.

As Rey filled the last of the freshly cleaned water buckets and lugged it to its hook in one  of the stalls, Finn motioned to her. “Oxford!” he called. “Admiral needs somebody to catch a cold one.”

“Got it,” Rey called back, securing the sloshing bucket in place with a heave. Admiral was the nickname of another of Dameron’s grooms; Rey wasn’t sure of his real name. Though the phrase “cold one” implied to a casual viewer that he wanted something to do with alcohol, it was actually referring to a horse who was not going out to the track today to exercise. Such a horse would be bathed (“cold,” not hot from working out) and then walked for about thirty minutes before being returned  to its stall. This was a treatment usually reserved for tired horses who had just run in a race, or who were coming back from an injury.

Admiral had a perpetually ruddy face, and eyes that bulged slightly, like a fish, but he was nice, if a bit quiet. Most likely that was because he didn’t seem to speak a word of English -- not an uncommon position to be in on the backside. Rey’s Spanish was improving every day, however; she could say almost anything relating to a horse and almost nothing relating to anything else.

Admiral showed her to the stall of a young bay colt and Rey threaded the chain at the end of her lead through the colt’s halter, unhooked the stall guard, and led him away. The colt had not gotten the memo that he was only walking today; he was brimming with energy and pranced in place, looking more like a carousel horse than anything made of flesh and blood. Rey kept him on a firm hand, her elbow jutted out in front of his chest to make him easier to control. Admiral met her in the wash stalls after a few laps, and the colt got a thorough, if chilly, bath while Rey held his head and tried to convince him that her arm was not a chew toy. After scraping the excess water out of the colt’s coat with a long metal implement, Admiral threw a knit wool cooler over the horse’s back, to keep him warm while he dried in the cool dawn air. 

Rey led the clean, still dancing colt back into the shedrow. Thirty minutes of walking counterclockwise, around and around the barn, lap after lap watching the clock, while the horse dried and jigged and lunged at shadows and did his damndest to cause a nuisance. Such was the disposition of a rowdy colt. Such was the life of a hot-walker. 

She had ample time now to observe the activity across the yard in Barn 11, the new home of the First Order Stud. You could have copied and pasted any pair of horse and stable-hand into the other tableau and seen few differences, other than the uniforms the workers in the other barn wore. They bustled around with their horses, bathing and grooming and tacking them up, preparing for the first set of the day to go out when the track opened, at 6AM sharp. The trainer Hux moved purposefully up and down the shedrow much like Dameron did, inspecting and overseeing, though he did not make easy conversation with his employees like Poe was wont to do.

Rey came around the corner again and saw  _ him _ .

Ben Solo. At 5:30AM on the backside of Jakku Downs. What was  _ with  _ this guy? She’d heard that he was a hands-on owner, in the way you hear rumours about celebrities you never dream of actually meeting -- but usually the extent of even the most involved owner was showing up occasionally in the late mornings to watch a favorite horse work, and to distribute peppermints and carrots amongst their animals. She’d never heard of an owner -- much less a big-time owner and millionaire like Ben Solo -- hanging around the backside like a lost kitten.

Solo stalked the shedrow, keeping out of the way of the stable-hands, apparently knowledgeable enough about the workings of a racing stable to not make the kind of mistakes that would get an ordinary person yelled at. Of course he would know that much -- he was the son of Leia Organa. He must have practically grown  _ up  _ at the track. But Rey would have expected him to be comfortable front side, upstairs in the ritzy restaurants where the rich kowtowed to the richer, the same kind of sphere his mother usually occupied, though she had the inborn grace to seem perfectly at home no matter the occasion. No, Rey didn’t expect Solo to fit in  _ here _ , in the grimy mundanity of barn life, full of coarse people and coarser language, and smells that were not always pleasant. Yet here he was -- looking as comfortable as as the smuggest of barn cats.

How on Earth did he keep those ridiculous black clothes clean in  _ all this dust _ ?

The colt was dry and the pony was tacked and the first set was due back any minute. Rey spent the morning as she spent all her mornings: alternating between walking horses and attending to any one of the million little chores needed to keep the stable running. Washing bandages, filling haynets, refilling water buckets, running overnights to the racing office and back, polishing tack, raking the shedrow into neat swirls of dirt -- it never ended. Even if you  _ could _ get it all done, tomorrow it would all need doing again. 

She kept an eye on the goings-on across the yard, noticing that Solo examined every set as they were going out, sometimes actually following them to the track, presumably to watch the horses work. He kept crouching down in that ridiculous manner -- she was sure he was going to fall on his ass at multiple points, but somehow he managed to avoid it -- to see the intricacies of the horses’ movements from another angle. Sometimes he spoke in low tones to Hux. Mostly, though, he was silent, and he  _ watched _ .

A few times he glanced over to Barn 12, almost as though accidentally, and at least once he made direct eye contact with her -- she looked hurriedly away, pretending to be very involved in adjusting the chain on her lead, hoping he didn’t realize she’d been staring at him like a creep.

When Kylo Ren went out to the track -- just to jog, a star-struck exercise rider told Rey later, but  _ oh stars, what a jog! _ \-- Solo didn’t take his eyes off his prize colt for a moment. The colt bucked and tried to rear as his rider took him down the chute; that was the first time Rey ever saw Ben Solo smile. It was a crooked, uncharitable smile, and there was something too sharp about the set of his mouth, something too hard in his eyes.

She decided she didn’t like it at all.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know how slowly this is warming up... but we're getting there, I promise. I'm almost done introducing all the characters and the plot will start moving along.

Around noon, as the backside quieted and emptied out, settling into quiescence for now, Ben Solo abruptly vanished. He’d been walking the shedrow, endlessly examining the horse bedded down in each stall, often saying things to Hux that made the other man grimace and appear to contemplate homicide. But when Rey heard the sound of an engine and looked up from rolling bandages, Solo was nowhere to be seen, for the first time all morning. Odd, she thought.

When the car she had heard approaching pulled around the corner of the barn, she suddenly understood. 

It was Leia’s car, a pearly white model of a brand too exotic for Rey to know how to pronounce. Ms. Organa bounded out of the driver’s seat, as full of energy as ever, and immediately began distributing peppermints to her horses, not caring at all about the slobber she was collecting on the sleeves of her no-doubt-hideously-expensive blazer.

Solo saw his mother, Rey thought with a giggle, and he _ran away_ _and hid_.

Leia Organa gave no indication of having seen the new banner hung across the yard. She made her way down the shedrow, patting noses and smoothing forelocks, chatting freely with grooms and horses alike, though the latter were not as likely to respond. Rey busied herself with the bandages again as the older woman neared; gawping, idle hot-walkers were not a good impression to make.

Dameron emerged from the tack room (though he called it his office, indicating the small desk he had shoved into one corner; but it was also where the tack was stored, so everybody else considered it the tack room). Leia greeted him enthusiastically, inquiring about each horse in turn. Her energy could be exhausting.

“How is Tatooine training?” she asked rapidly. “Have you done a flexion test? I thought they could lose flexibility after a tendon injury.”

Before Poe could even finish his explanation of Tatooine’s progress and the physiological realities of tendon injuries, Leia had already moved on. “Here,” she said, shoving a sheaf of papers into Dameron’s hands. “I wrote out some possible targets for BB Eight’s four-year-old season.”

“She won’t be four for nine months,” Poe stated.

“It’s never too early,” Leia replied smoothly.

“The Japan Cup?” Dameron asked in disbelief, as he examined the papers. “The  _ Russian _ Derby?”

“It’s never been won by an American filly,” demurred Leia. “We could be the first. Wouldn’t that be something? But those are plans W and Q. I think you’ll find A, B, and maybe even D more agreeable.”

“ ‘Assuming a Triple Crown victory,’ ” Poe read out loud. “ _ Assuming _ ?”

“You have to plan ahead,” explained Leia. “For all eventualities.”

“Well, seeing as you ran out of normal letters and started using Greek ones for these plans, I think it’s safe to say you covered everything,” Poe said, completely deadpan.

Leia regarded him with a grim expression for a moment, apparently deciding whether or not he was mocking her, then broke into an infectious smile, slapping his shoulder affectionately. “You’ve got your father’s sense of humor,” she said. “It drove me nuts too.”

“Well, that’s where you drove him, so I guess fair’s fair,” Poe drawled.

As far as owner / trainer relationships went, this one was pretty solid, Rey thought. There was very little screaming, very little lying, very little keeping in the dark and covering with shit. Leia was too experienced and had been in the game too long to fall for the usual tricks, and Poe had been putting up with her quirks since childhood, when his father Kes had trained the Organa horses. They could be snarky with one another, and at first Rey had felt nervous during their exchanges -- sure that Leia would take the horses away and she’d be unemployed and homeless. 

But any tension was always diffused by Leia’s bright, infectious laugh, as she laughed now, and Rey felt glad to work for these people -- to work for people who made you feel warm inside, instead of greasy and cheap.

“Well, how is my darling?” Leia asked, moving towards BB Eight’s stall. The mare had heard the voice of her breeder and owner, and was stretching her neck over the stall guard, nickering in hopes of treats. She towered over Leia, but dropped her head down politely. Leia rubbed the mare’s face appreciatively, before wrapping her arms around the chestnut’s neck and hugging her tightly. There were not many Thoroughbreds with whom one would be wise to attempt such a stunt -- they were five thousands pounds of energy contained in one thousand pounds of muscle, and equivalent to live wires in terms of the wiseness of touchy-feely actions. Also, many of them bit, and in addition kicked when the opportunity presented itself. But BB Eight gracefully allowed her owner such improprieties. She might nip at others if she disagreed with a situation, but never, never at Leia.

“Oxford!” called Dameron, and Rey put down the bandages. “Come jog BB for us.”

Rey obediently went to the stall, ducked inside and looped her lead line through BB Eight’s halter. She led the mare out carefully, a wide turn so she didn’t knock a hip on the edges of the entrance, and out into the yard. “Down and back,” said Poe, and Rey trotted off.

Some horses needed encouragement to jog alongside, or needed a bit of restraint to resist the urge to run and buck, but BB Eight was an old pro, and jogged sedately, keeping pace with Rey perfectly and halting on a dime when Rey turned to go back the other way. She was as responsive and attentive as a halter horse, Rey thought. Perhaps as a second career?

“Where did you find this one?” she heard Leia ask Poe in a low voice.

“Pretty sure you found her,” he replied lightly. “In a pasture with her mother one winter morning.”

“The  _ girl _ , you nerf-herder,” Leia corrected him.

Poe shook his head. “Finn found her,” he said. “Said I ought to hire her. I did.”

“Kid!” Leia called out. Rey paused in the jog back down the shedrow, her attention jumping from the mare gliding along at her side to the older woman.

“Yeah?”

“He have you riding yet?” Leia asked.

Rey felt her face color. She’d never actually spoken to Ms. Organa -- the prospect was daunting. “No,” she admitted.

“But you want to,” Leia guessed.

“Yes,” said Rey earnestly, pulling the mare back to a walk, then a halt, in front of Dameron and Leia. “More than anything.”

“She has soft hands,” Leia said, now addressing Dameron. “And the horse likes her. Start her on the pony.”

“I was going to.” Dameron chafed at her bossiness. “I already started her grooming Chewbacca. One step at a time. I’ll make a horsewoman out of her, you’ll see.”

Leia smiled at Rey. “She’ll make a great one, I’m sure. Remember… Oxford?” She said the nickname uncertainly.

“It’s Rey, actually,” Rey supplied apologetically.

“Rey,” said Leia, smiling warmly. “Always remember. Trust the people your horse likes. The horses know. They  _ always _ know.” She turned to Dameron. “I have to go front side. Wouldn’t want to be late for whatever silly party they’re having now. But call me when the filly gets here. I want  _ ever _ y detail.”

“I’m sure you do,” drawled Poe with an exaggerated expression of long-suffering patience.

Leia smirked at him fondly, began to walk towards her car, then stopped suddenly. “Poe,” she said seriously.

“Yes?”

“Keep an eye on them,” -- she wasn’t looking and she wasn’t pointing at the ominous black banner across the yard, but every line of her body suggested that was exactly who she was talking about. “I want to know what they’re up to.”

“Yes, ma’am,” replied Poe.

“And if you see Ben--” Leia paused. “Tell him how silly he is for hiding in a tack room when he sees his mother drive up.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Poe says again.

“ And tell him to call his father.”

“Yes, ma’am!” Poe repeats with a chuckle.

“And tell him I hope that big black monster of his bites him in the face.”


	6. Chapter 6

Ben Solo re-emerged from wherever he had been hiding not long after the dust thrown up from Leia’s car tires had settled, and he set to stalking the shedrow in an even grimmer manner than before. Rey was surprised that was possible. She was languidly buffing an exercise saddle, drowsy in the gentle heat of the mid-afternoon. She could have left the barn an hour ago, if she wanted--the essential work was done for the afternoon. But there was a serenity in the gentle sounds of a full barn: the rustling of hay, the jingling of halters, the occasional snort or whinny, a soft music to accompany the particles of sawdust dancing in beams of sunlight.

She would rather be here than anywhere.

Rey was just considering flopping herself down onto the cube of hay bales that were stored on the end of the shedrow, lying down in the gentle sunlight and napping until the barn began to wake up for the evening, when stalls would be cleaned again and hungry horses fed. But before she could curl up in the hay and take a well-deserved doze, Dameron startled her out of half-sleep by tossing a lead-line in her lap.

“Look alive,” he said brightly. “We’ve got a new arrival.”

“What?” she asked, jumping to her feet.

“You’re going to like this one.” Poe was grinning.

A pick-up truck was pulling into the yard, a horse-trailer rattling behind it. The horses stalled in Barn 12 pricked up their ears and hung heads over stall guards, and some whinnied at the trailer -- they knew what a trailer meant. Either somebody was coming or somebody was going, and to the horses, this was a notable event.

Poe waved her to the back of the trailer, as he leaned in to make small-talk with the driver. Rey recognized him as one of Leia’s employees from the farm. She went to the back of the trailer, unbolted the doors, and unfolded the ramp. She clambered up to the front of the trailer to clip her lead to the horse’s halter.

She was in love before they even made it down the ramp. 

The gray filly was in that striking stage of coal-black dapples against a gleaming white coat, light-boned with delicate lines and a beautiful dished face. She sashayed down the ramp, placing her hooves with great care, graceful even as her head shot up and she observed her new environment with ramrod straight ears and all the intensity her breed was famous for. She was a filly made for fairytales: a horse for a princess.

“First of the two-year-olds from Resistance Racing,” Poe said, grinning. He had come around the back of the trailer while Rey was staring rapturously at the filly. “It’s early, but she was galloping so well at the farm that Leia wanted her to learn the ropes around here. We won’t run her until the summer but it’s good experience for her.”

Rey reached out tentatively to stroke the filly’s neck, and she didn’t think she’d ever touched anything so soft. The horse was taking little dancing steps from side to side, taking it all in. From a human perspective, a two-year-old Thoroughbred is about as mature as a seventh-grader -- just as naive, just as excitable and just as occasionally silly.

“Who’s grooming her?” Rey asked. She walked the filly in a tight circle, getting her to drop her head and relax a bit. The young horse noticed the grass growing in the yard for the first time, and settled into grazing. Rey stood at her shoulder and stroked her withers absently.

Poe grinned. “You are,” he said.

“What?”

He shrugged. “Everybody else already has four or more. You’ll be able to focus on her. Give her all the attention she needs.”

Rey was grinning deliriously, leaning into the filly’s shoulder as she cropped at the grass contentedly. There was nothing so comforting as the warm, solid bulk of a horse.

“Put her in stall #42 when you’re done,” Poe continued. “I had Finn put down straw.”

“What’s her name?” Rey asked. She hoped it wasn’t something stupid. She considered it a tragedy when lovely horses were given dumb names. Not that Leia often gave her horses sub-par monikers -- but you had to admit “BB Eight” wasn’t the most classic or elegant of names.

Poe shuffled the paperwork he had received from the driver. “Amidala,” he said after a moment, reading it off the registration. “But at the farm they were calling her Amy.”

“Thank you,” said Rey softly as she ran her fingers through Amy’s mane.

Poe smiled his friendly, crooked smile. “I believe in you, kid,” he said. “Ever since Finn showed up with you in tow, I knew you’d make a horse-woman.” His voice became a bit gruffer as he back-pedaled away from this unexpected sappiness. “Well, making a horse-woman takes a lot of blood and sweat and tears and  _ time _ , so don’t get ahead of yourself or anything. But you’ve made a good start.” He looked at her appraisingly.

“Don’t blow it.”

* * *

 

There was a row of computers in the back of the racing office available for the horsemen to use -- it wasn’t like the track dormitories had Wi-Fi. Rey rarely needed to come here; Poe had the Daily Racing Form delivered to the barn each morning, and it had been a long time since Rey had been interested in news other than racing news. She slipped inside, feeling positively paranoid as she passed the desks of various racing officials, most of whom nodded or waved, recognizing her from around the track. The world of horse racing was very small indeed -- and at Jakku Downs it was even smaller. She tried not to let them see how nervous she was -- and it was  _ stupid _ , to be nervous about this. Nobody was watching. Nobody cared. 

It was Poe’s fault, she thought, as she logged onto one of the elderly desktop computers in the back room. He was perfectly happy to let her perish from curiosity. He wouldn’t tell her a damn word about any of it. Who Ben was; what he was doing here; what the hell happened with him and Leia and Han -- and she had connected the dots and realized that  _ of course _ Poe knew him, had grown up with him. Kes Dameron had trained the Organa horses for decades -- as had Han Solo. Was it any surprise their sons had been friends?

And Finn was equally useless. He’d explained that Solo hadn’t been around during the time he’d been a groom at the First Order Stud -- he’d never met the man before.  _ He  _ couldn’t explain anything.

So she was in the racing office googling the bastard.

She hoped nobody saw her. She looked over her shoulder to be sure; the room was deserted.

It was easier than she thought it would be. He had a damn Wikipedia page.

The picture on it was old -- and she was glad he’d grown out his hair to cover those ridiculous ears. It wasn’t a very long article. It described how he’d dropped out of college to start a company with some class-mates, a typical sort of start-up story. The company -- Snoke Technologies -- had been a nearly instant success. It was a software company, she could tell that much, and it seemed like it had to do with data and predictions, but the article was so full of buzz-words it was hard to tell exactly.

There was a paragraph about various events in the company’s evolution: various valuations over time, the IPO, a new product that had been a hit, one that had been a bust. It wasn’t very interesting.

She scrolled a little, and gasped. The next heading read “Arrests.” One for drunk driving, another for drugs. Both about three years ago. There were few details beyond that.

The last line of the article stated something she already knew: that about a year and half ago, he’d sold the company for a staggering sum. But something intrigued her -- there was not a single article about him written after that event. Lots about the sale, lots from before, lots of flattering things and lots of unflattering things too. But afterwards: nothing.

Ben Solo had sold his company, and then -- at least in the eyes of the internet -- abruptly vanished.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The comments and feedback so far have been amazing. This fandom is incredible! I thought this story would have a potential audience of maybe 3 people -- including me. I'm beyond thrilled that people are enjoying it and I'm having an absolute blast writing it.
> 
> I'm hoping to keep updating at a fairly quick pace -- I'm a few chapters ahead and will try to stay there. But I am teaching a class this semester so my schedule can get nuts. If I vanish for a few days, send help :)

After narrowly avoiding an encounter with his mother -- screw what Luke had said, he wasn’t  _ ready  _ for that shit yet -- Ben Solo decided to head home. He climbed into the black truck that Phasma had inexplicably returned with when he’d sent her to the dealership -- it was silly to rent something after all, he’d be here for months, it was far easier to just buy a car. But he certainly hadn’t expected her to return with the fully-loaded, heavy-duty extended cab pick-up truck -- in jet-black, of course, interior and exterior. He’d been picturing something smaller, something sexier, maybe something that was capable of accelerating a bit quicker than a semi-truck? 

He tried to say as much, but she’d growled something about how he was confusing “assistant trainer” with “personal assistant” and stomped away. So now he owned a stupid truck. It wasn’t that big of a loss -- he’d owned stupider things.

He started the engine -- and the thing practically  _ roared _ with all the vehemence a diesel engine can manage -- and pulled out of the barn area. “Home” in this instance was the house he’d rented in a nearby neighborhood. It was huge and non-descript, easily confused for any other home in the subdivision, a perfect embodiment of the American McMansion. He hated it. 

He’d practically had to beg Hux and Phasma to share it with him -- even with the promise of free housing they’d been hard to convince. But even  _ with  _ them there it was too quiet, too empty. That was bad. It made him want to fill the emptiness with something, with  _ anything _ , and usually he chose the wrong things.

He’d been down that road before. It didn’t lead anywhere good.

Hux was sitting at the vast kitchen island as Ben walked in the door. He was glaring a copy of the Racing Form -- but that meant very little, he glared at everything; it was his default facial expression. Hux turned the glare briefly in Ben’s direction, but apparently decided to ignore him. Ben wondered for a hundredth time why he put up with this, before his eyes fell on a framed win picture of Kylo Ren from last year’s Breeder’s Cup Juvenile, hanging proudly on the opposite wall. Oh, right. Why did the good trainers have to be so damn  _ difficult _ ?

“I was looking at the condition book,” Ben began, before Hux shot him another aggravated look.

“What did I tell you about the condition book?” Hux asked with barely contained exasperation.

Ben sighed. “That I’m not allowed to look at the condition book,” he said. “But there’s this ungraded stakes race in a few weeks that I think would be perfect for Kyber Crystal--”

Phasma walked in then, throwing her keys down on the kitchen counter. “What direction exactly is town in?” she interrupted. “All I could find is that sad little strip mall on Highway 18.”

Ben smirked. “That  _ is  _ town,” he said. “You found it.”

She looked at him, horrified. “And you  _ grew up  _ here?” she asked.

Ben smiled humorlessly. “Sporadically,” he admitted.

“So I looked at the condition book,” Phasma said to Hux. The other man leaned forward, his usual glare softening into as friendly an expression as he seemed capable of.

“The stakes for Kyber Crystal?” Hux asked, and Phasma nodded.

Ben ground his teeth and stomped into his room. He managed to resist the urge to slam the door -- but just barely.

He flopped onto the floral-print bedspread -- the house had come furnished and he hadn’t bothered with changing any of the decor -- and opened up his laptop. The FedEx tracking site was still open: how many times had he refreshed it in the past two days? They were probably convinced somebody was trying to crash their servers. He refreshed it again for good measure. His video equipment had spent several days stalled in New Jersey, but it seemed -- at least for now -- to be on its way south.

He was bored. It was quiet. He wanted a damn  _ drink _ , but he opened up the programming suite on his laptop instead.

He’d bought the first few horses out of spite -- well, he’d bought the first few because he’d been extremely drunk, but after that, after those had started winning, wearing his black and crimson silks instead of burnt orange and white,  _ then  _ it had been out of spite. This silly game, the one that had consumed his father’s life, that his mother seemed to find so much more interesting than her own child: he could  _ buy  _ this game. 

And for a few years he did his damndest. At the big auction pavilions in Kentucky the mood would turn positively  _ jovial _ when he walked in, because everybody knew he was there to spend money just as fast as he could. He went for quality  _ and  _ quantity, and when he’d filled the stalls at the training track where he was stabling the animals he went out and bought his own. Somehow he managed to lure Brendon Hux away from a lucrative contract in England to train his growing barn -- no, he knew exactly how. You can buy people as easily as horses.

But the luster of that had faded. It turns out horse racing is a surprisingly difficult game to buy -- good horses can come from anywhere, and bad horses come from the top as often as they come from the bottom. Seattle Slew sold for $17,000 as a yearling; the dam of California Chrome was purchased for five grand, and Chrome himself conceived for $750. And sometimes, too often, those beautifully conformed, impeccably bred animals he’d paid millions for got beat by crooked nags bred in some redneck’s backyard. You can buy pretty: but pretty can’t always run.

And he had realized one day, with all the force of a lightning bolt, standing by the rail with the Form spread out in front of him, that there were reams and reams of data at his fingertips, so much more that he wasn’t considering at all in favor of the single data point of  _ how many people can I outbid _ .

And data was data -- and data was  _ his  _ game. Prediction was his game. He’d built a multi-billion dollar company on the simple paradigm that if you can make enough observations about something, you can own it. You can model it. You can see into the future with the clarity of an oracle, whether it’s the future of the stock market or shipping logistics or ad banner clicks.

He’d realized: he didn’t want to buy the game. He wanted to  _ beat  _ it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A condition book is a little booklet issued by a racetrack that lists upcoming races. A trainer wouldn't want an owner getting his hands on it and getting all kinds of ideas about where to run the horses :)


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For everybody who's been asking when they are finally going to meet...
> 
> I also made an Imgur album with a map of the track (kind of needed for this chapter) and some pictures of how I imagine the barn and horses looking. Here it is: https://imgur.com/a/R0lKJ

Rey was handing Tatooine off to his groom when Finn tapped her on the shoulder. “You’ve got company,” he said, sounding slightly confused.

“What?” she asked.

Finn gave her a meaningful look and nodded towards Barn 11. Rey peered over his shoulder and saw, to her vast surprise, Ben Solo standing there awkwardly in the yard, looking at them, though he immediately looked away before she could make eye contact. She ducked down to hide behind Finn again.

_ Oh stars _ , she thought, horrified.  _ He knows I googled him _ . That was ridiculous. Probably lots of people googled him. It wasn’t like she had  _ wanted  _ to google him -- Poe had left her no choice. How would he even know, anyways?  _ He’s a software tycoon, he has ways _ ,  _ of course he does! _

“ _ Him _ ?” she hissed at Finn. “Why?”

Finn shrugged. “He asked for you specifically. Better not keep him waiting,” he warned. “You know what they say about him: he makes so much money an hour that if he stopped to pick up a $100 bill in the street, he’d actually  _ lose  _ money.”

Rey frowned. “I never understood that,” she replied. “If he’s walking around in the street, he’s not working  _ anyway _ , so he’s not losing anything by picking up the $100 bill.”

Finn frowned back. “That’s a good point,” he said.

“I’m not going to talk to him,” Rey said. “Tell him I’m not here.”

Finn looked over at the tall man, then back at Rey. “I think that ship’s already sailed,” he said. “Go talk to him. This business is all about connections.” He shoved her lightly in Ben’s direction. “Go make some.”

Looking back mournfully at Finn to make sure he understood how betrayed she felt, she walked slowly towards Ben Solo. As he drew close, he cleared his throat. She jumped.

“...Oxford?” he asked hesitantly. She gulped, looking up at him. He seemed  _ much  _ taller up close. His long hair curled around his face, somehow looking groomed even in the humidity. She was suddenly very conscious of how her own hair was plastered to her face by sweat, decorated by loose flakes of sawdust.

“Yes,” she said nervously, as if admitting to a crime. “But... it’s Rey, really.”

His eyes crinkled upon hearing her voice. She could almost swear there was a ghost of a smile on his face, but then it was gone. “I understand the nickname, now,” he said. His voice was deeper than she had expected -- it was positively  _ rumbling _ . And his eyes weren’t black, unlike her previous assumption -- up close, they were  _ green _ ; in this light, almost gold.

Rey sighed with exasperation. “It’s not even an Oxford  _ accent _ \--” she began in frustration, but stopped herself.

Ben regarded her. “I was given your name,” he said at last, correcting himself quickly as she frowned. “Your  _ nick _ name.”

“What for?” Rey asked warily.

“One of my stablehands has the flu,” Ben said. “I need somebody to run a horse tonight.”

“I run horses for people,” Rey confirmed cryptically.

“Running any tonight?” There was the faintest trace of exasperation in his tone.

“Nope.”

“Good,” said Ben. He took his wallet out of his back pocket -- black leather, of course, probably cost more than Rey made in a month -- opened it and held out a $100 bill to her. She stared at it. The standard rate for this kind of freelance work was $50 a pop. She looked at him cautiously, then took it, hesitantly slipping it into her pocket. Wouldn’t want him to bend down and pick it up and lose money, of course.

“There’s another hundred in it for you after,” Ben continued. She stared at him in disbelief. Four times the going rate? What was his game here?

“Who gave you my name?” she asked suspiciously.

Ben ignored the question. “2nd race, the number eight horse,” he said. “Here.” He shoved a stiff black shirt into her hands, the red logo on the breast obvious, and then looked her up and down for a long moment. “Do you have any jeans that  _ aren’t  _ torn?” he asked eventually, not bothering to hide his disdain.

“Yes,” she said defensively, unfolding the shirt and examining it with distaste. “You do realize it’s 85 degrees out here,” she said, looking up at him incredulously.

“Do you want the job or not?” he asked acerbically. Rey said nothing, but she did refold the shirt carefully before tucking it under her arm, holding his gaze steadily as she did so.

“Wear the shirt,” he said, in a tone that left nothing to chance. “And the  _ other _ jeans,” he added. “3PM sharp.”

“Okay,” said Rey airily, not giving him an inch.

“Okay,” said Ben with a slight nod. He spent another moment searching her face -- just what the fuck did he think he was going to find there? -- then turned and stalked away.

She watched him go, her mouth hanging slightly open in disbelief about what had just happened.

Two hundred bucks was two hundred bucks. But having to put up with  _ him _ seemed like it should merit hazard pay.

 

* * *

 

 

3PM came agonizingly slowly. She hadn’t felt this nervous since the first time she’d run a horse on her own -- hell, she hadn’t felt this nervous  _ then _ . It’s fine, she told herself. You’ll see him for thirty seconds in the paddock and that’ll be that. Why does he even bother you so much? He doesn’t even know about the googling.

Poe refused to talk about him; Leia apparently wished physical violence upon him; and it was obvious from her googling expedition that he was -- or at least had been -- mixed up in some bad stuff.  _ That  _ was why she felt so nervous, she told herself;  _ that  _ explained the fluttering in her stomach when she thought about their conversation that morning. 

She tried to read a book for a while, sprawled on her thin mattress, but it was pointless. She paced the room instead. Finally the minutes had inched on far enough that she could justify getting dressed. She put on her nicest jeans -- which wasn’t saying much -- and the stiff black shirt, smoothing it over her shoulders and looking at herself apprehensively in Jessika’s mirror. She looked like a caterer. And not a fancy caterer -- a backyard wedding, serving chicken wings under the sky, kind of caterer.

Rey pulled on her boots, glancing at the clock -- stars! It was only 2:30! Well, her boots were dusty, and so she buffed them with a little borrowed saddle soap. They’d be filthy again by the time she got front side, but at least she had tried. 2:35! How was it only 2:35! She took out the book again, scanned a few pages, barely grasping what was happening in the story -- and 2:40! Was the damn clock broken?

I’ll walk over there slowly, she thought. Better early than late, right?

She dawdled her way towards Barn 11, and still managed to be five minutes early. She saw Hux standing outside a particular stall, and started towards him, only to realize -- damnit!  _ He _ was here, Ben was here, looming over his trainer, watching the groom work on the horse inside the stall with a dark expression. Rey steadied herself and approached.

The mare was diminutive and red as Hux’s hair, and she was calm under the brush-strokes of her groom. She lowered her head politely as the groom pulled her bridle on followed by her halter over it, and she chewed at the bit in a thoughtful rather than a nervous manner.

Hux barely paid Rey any attention -- hot-walkers were hot-walkers, exchangeable as cogs in a machine, as long as they knew how to do their job. He watched her thread the brass chain into the mare’s halter, and, satisfied that she knew what she was doing, departed in his black sedan to the front side. The groom handed the lead line over to Rey and she led the mare from her stall, feeling herself calm down as she felt the familiar warm bulk of a horse on the end of the line. 

And there  _ he _ was, lurking at the end of the shedrow,  _ watching  _ her, always fucking watching her without saying a damn word. She looked at him with shock and alarm. She thought he’d gotten in the car with Hux. That was what he  _ should  _ have done. He should have gone to the paddock where he belonged. Well, he shouldn’t have been hanging around on the backside in the first place. What was  _ wrong  _ with him?

Resolutely, she ignored him, leading the mare out of the barn and towards the horse-path to the receiving barn.

He  _ followed  _ her.

No, not followed, he  _ walked casually beside her _ , as if they were out for an afternoon stroll with their over-sized and rambunctious dog dragging her along.

“What are you  _ doing _ ?” she hissed at him as the mare pulled.

“Walking over,” he said, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

“It’s not fucking  _ Derby day _ ,” said Rey. “It’s a $15,000 claimer for non-winners of three on a Thursday fucking afternoon.”

“You read the form,” said Ben mildly, cocking his head in slight surprise.

“Of course I read the form,” Rey retorted. “And who names a racehorse  _ Millicent _ , anyways?” The unfortunately named subject of conversation, understanding now where she was headed, took a prancing step ahead, and Rey braced herself against the mare’s chest to slow her down. When you were trying to control an animal that weighed ten times more than you, you had to use some dirty tricks.

“Hux named her,” Ben admitted.

“Bet he named Kylo Ren too,” Rey laughed.

Ben frowned. “What’s wrong with Kylo Ren? That’s a  _ great  _ name.”

Rey grinned wickedly. “ _ You  _ named him,” she said, almost accusingly.

“Of course,” Ben huffed. “I name all the good ones. I only let Hux name the scrubby ones.” He paused, brow furrowed. “What’s wrong with Kylo Ren?” he repeated, apparently perturbed.

They had reached the receiving barn, so Rey just smirked at him while she ducked inside, and led the mare away to join the line of racehorses circling the inside of the barn. It was far too crowded for Ben to follow, and when the crowd was armed with horse-sized teeth and plate-sized hooves, one was wise to mind it. Pity. She’d have liked to watch him get the old double barrel to the face.

Rey rubbed the mare’s neck soothingly as she jogged almost in place, brimming with energy. “This is your competition, girl,” Rey crooned in the sing-song voice she always used with the horses. “Size ‘em up good, now.”

They lapped the barn a few times, a parade of shiny flanks and sparkling hooves. Ben had vanished -- headed front side to his traditional place in the paddock, she hoped. Where he  _ belonged _ . The third lap found the foreman standing near the exit, handing out the canvas aprons with appropriate colors and numbers. Rey ducked obediently into the pink apron for number 8 -- it wasn’t her favorite color, and it would look awful on the red mare’s saddlecloth, but the colors were standardized for every track in America, so you learned to live with it.

“Race two, heading out,” the foreman called when all the aprons had been donned, and the parade snaked out of the barn and down into the chute leading to the paddock on the front side of the track.

She was almost not surprised when Ben appeared out of nowhere, again, to fall into step beside her.

“Nice outfit,” he said.

“It  _ does  _ clash with the uniform,” Rey growled from between gritted teeth as Millicent dragged mightily against her lead, snorting with excitement. “Not to mention the horse.”

“What do you think of her?” Ben asked suddenly.

“Who?”

“The  _ horse _ .”

“She’s all wrong here,” Rey replied immediately. 

Ben shot her a surprised but appraising look. “Oh?”

Rey shook her head. “She has a terrific turn of foot. That’s obvious from her fractions. But she loafs out of the gate. By the time she gets moving she runs out of track.”

He smirked. “What would you suggest?”  
“Call in a favor with the racing office, get them to card a 9 furlong maiden. If they really like you, make it fillies and mares only.” Rey paused. “And for fuck’s sake, put her on the _turf_.”

Ben cocked his head. He was still smiling, in that infuriating way of his, lip curled in a way that could almost signal derision. “Why?”  
Rey pressed her shoulder into the mare’s chest as she jumped forward again. “The female family is all European,” she panted. “The dam-sire won the St Ledger, for Chrissakes. She’s bred for it.”

Ben shook his head dismissively. “We ran her on turf as a three year old. It was dismal. She doesn’t have the action for it. Why repeat the experiment?”

“You ran her on turf out  _ west _ ,” Rey insisted, hauling on the lead line. “The grass in California is nothing like the east coast. It’s too dry there -- the surface is like a highway. She’ll like the deeper track here.” 

They were drawing close to the paddock. The track identifier stood at the gate. In his hand was a list of the names of the horses in the race -- and their corresponding tattoos. Every Thoroughbred is tattooed before their first race: on the inside of the upper lip, in indelible blue ink. This is so that they can be identified without doubt and so that unscrupulous individuals cannot run a horse under another horse’s name: a practice that had once been so common as to create the need for the identifying tattoos.

The official peeled back Millicent’s upper lip -- she stood quietly, and did not throw her head or pull away or otherwise make a fuss, which was nice because they usually did. He read off the string of letters and numbers and confirmed that they matched his documentation. Then he waved them into the groomed expanse of the paddock.

_ Finally _ Ben went away, to lurk in the saddling stall for number eight and Rey was left in peace to circle the paddock with the mare. They were among the first to arrive, and the paddock was still quiet. People were beginning to gather along the fence to watch the new arrivals. The mare pranced on the manicured gravel, snorting at the large statue of a racehorse in full flight which stood in the center of the paddock.

A tiny, wizened old woman with humongous glasses was standing on her tiptoes to see over the paddock rail, her nose buried in a heavily annotated Racing Form. “Brought me another winner today, Rey?” she croaked, smiling broadly.

Rey shrugged as she smiled back. “I don’t know, Maz,” she replied. Maz was a regular at the track, and always looking for a good tip. “She’s not one of mine.”

“I don’t like her chances,” the old woman replied frankly, peering at the form and shaking her head. “Why don’t those fools put her on the turf?”

Rey smiled, but said nothing. The old woman regarded her for a moment, then sniffed. 

“You look dreadful in black, dear,” she said, looking Rey up and down.

“Thanks, Maz,” said Rey, as she passed out of ear-shot. 

Hux had appeared in the paddock, and he was quick to shoo Ben out of the saddling stall as he spoke to the jockey and his valet, who held the tiny racing saddle Millicent would be wearing shortly. Ben went to stand unhappily under the trees next to the statue. He watched Rey closely and she resolutely refused to look back at him.

Hux flagged her down on her next rotation, and she brought the mare into the saddling stall, moving to stand in front of her to keep her still while she was saddling. Hux worked quickly to throw the saddle over her back and adjust the cinch. He paused as he tightened it, looking thoughtfully at Rey for what she was pretty sure was the first time.

“You have to get used to it,” he said eventually, in a clipped accent. “If you want to stay in  _ this _ business.”

“What?” she asked in confusion, steadying Millicent as the mare shifted her weight from side to side.

Hux sighed. “Nobody sane owns racehorses anymore,” he went on. “You think Solo’s bad.” He shook his head. “He’s not even the worst I’ve had to deal with.”

“Thanks for the tip,” said Rey faintly.

Hux nodded, and then the call went out for jockey’s up, and before Rey knew it she was handing the mare off to a pony-girl, left with nothing but an empty halter. She strapped the halter over her shoulder like a purse -- so fashionable! -- and went to exit the paddock.

And of course  _ he  _ was there, like he was waiting for her.

“Don’t you have a box seat to get to?” she asked acidly as he followed her out of the paddock gate.

“There’s no reason to walk all the way up there when I’m only going to be here for twenty minutes,” he replied mildly.

“Because you’re walking back with me,” Rey growled.

“Of course.”

She’d signed up to take one idiot animal to the post and back, but it had turned out to be two. Rey wanted a fucking raise.

 

* * *

 

 

She found her usual space along the rail, close to the gate that lead out onto the track itself so she wouldn’t have far to go when she had to catch the horse again. He followed her like she had invited him -- she had  _ not _ \-- and leaned casually beside her, an easy pose, one he was evidently used to. He had to hunch his back ridiculously to rest his elbows on the rail. She watched the horses warming up, ignoring him.

“I wish I had my camera,” he said suddenly, as Millicent cantered past with her pony-horse in tow.

“What, are you a photographer?” Rey asked flatly, still not looking at him.

He frowned. “It’s a  _ video _ camera,” he said, his emphasis cryptic to her.

“Making home movies?” she asked sarcastically, not really caring.

“You wouldn’t understand,” he sighed dismissively.

They watched the horses load into the gate in silence, and when the bell rang and the gate sprang open they watched race in silence, too. Millicent loafed out of the gate, just as Rey had guessed, settling in the far back of the pack, but as the horses thundered down the home stretch the jockey threaded her expertly between horses as she accelerated late, and she came up to nip the horse in third by a head.

“That was lucky,” said Rey, as the horses cantered out. “She had a good trip.”

Ben turned to look at her. “There’s no such thing as  _ luck _ ,” he said acerbically. “Only variables you forgot to account for.”

She had to mightily resist the urge to roll her eyes. “Sure,” she said, and walked away. The horses were cantering back to the finish line now, the victor headed to the winner’s circle to have his picture taken, the others to be caught by their handlers, cooled out, and returned to their barns. She stepped out onto the track, sinking past her ankles into the soft loam, waving to Millicent’s jockey, who steered the mare towards her. She got the halter over the mare’s ears as the jockey pulled off his saddle, nodded in a friendly manner towards Rey, and departed. 

The mare was breathing hard, drenched in sweat, her flanks heaving. Rey spoke to her in a soft voice. “We’ll have to the go to the test barn, little lady,” she crooned. 

Ben appeared at her elbow. She glared at him. “Maybe we’ll finally get some peace and quiet,” she said to the horse in a less gentle tone. He ignored her, and grabbed one of the hoses by the rail, directing the stream of water over Millicent’s withers and flanks with the practiced ease of an expert. Rey got thoroughly misted but couldn’t complain. It was hot enough outside to feel lovely. Plastering her damp hair back from her forehead, she led Millicent away, towards the backside again. Ben stalked along at her side.

“They’re not going to let you in the test barn,” Rey reminded him.

“Oh, they’ll let me in the test barn,” Ben growled.

They did not let him in the test barn, and Rey had an awful time trying to stifle a giggle as she listened to him throwing a tantrum outside.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So the top three finishers in every race go to the test barn afterwards, to have urine and blood samples collected to check for illegal performance enhancers. The security there is super serious. They would absolutely NOT let Ben Solo in.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My current Ben Solo song: Head Full of Doubt / Road Full of Promise by the Avett Brothers

“Mitaka has the flu,” Hux stated, looming over the desk in the Barn 12 tackroom that Ben had appropriated from him. Ben had his feet up on the desk, mostly because he knew it would horrify Hux, and his computer in his lap.

“What?” asked Ben distractedly, not looking up as he typed on his laptop. He was _not_ hiding in here in case Leia decided to stop by today. He was _working_ , obviously.

“I don’t have anybody to run Millicent tonight,” Hux said slowly, as if talking to a child. “And given how you _reacted_ the last time I hired a freelancer to run a horse, _you_ get to figure this one out.”

“That kid was a punk,” said Ben, immediately defensive.

Hux stared at him levelly.”My point,” he said coldly. “Find someone up to your standards to run the damn horse, or run her yourself. I don’t care.” He left in a swirl of black, crimson, and barely contained rage.

Ben frowned at the code he’d been working on. It wasn’t a crime to have standards, to be careful about who the people handling your horses were. And if Hux thought he wouldn’t be able to find someone up to par, he was dead wrong. He’d find somebody -- somebody who wasn’t a punk.

He sighed, closing the laptop and leaving it in the desk. He knew how to do this.

He walked across the backside, ignoring the stares and whispers that followed him as he went. Not for the first time, he wished it was socially acceptable to wear a mask. He’d never really gotten the chance to be anonymous -- even before he’d become well-known in his own right. At the track he’d been Han’s boy; everywhere else, a senator’s son. It sounded nice, to be unknown -- to be invisible.

His destination was before him, a low, non-descript cinder-block building with a steady stream of foot traffic coming in and out. The track kitchen was the equivalent of the office water cooler; it was the social nexus of the racetrack, the hub of gossip and rumors about any and all goings-on. Unlike an office water cooler, it produced nothing palatable. Oh well. A little bad track coffee wouldn’t kill him.

Ben ducked inside. It looked and smelled entirely too much like a high school cafeteria. He procured himself some of that coffee, added as much milk as he thought was necessary to cut the bitterness, and then wandered over the to the window that looked out on the track, where several small knots of people were congregating. He tried to summon up some of the easy confidence that Han had always exuded.

He ended up not needing it. As he reached the windows, a man with an open, friendly face -- who looked vaguely familiar, now that he thought of it -- walked up next to him, holding his own coffee cup. The man took a long sip, staring out at the empty track pensively, and Ben tried to take a drink of his own coffee, but it was still boiling hot and he almost choked.

“New around here?” Finn asked smoothly.

Ben brushed his hair out of his face reflexively, startled by the question. “No,” he said. “Not really.”

“Figured you’d know about the coffee, then,” Finn said with the slightest of winks.

“Look,” said Ben. “I need a guy to run a horse. Somebody reliable. Do you know anybody?”

Finn nodded contemplatively. “I got a name for you,” he said, a grin spreading across his face.

 

* * *

 

 

Ben almost wasn’t surprised when he arrived at Barn 12, and the same man saw him across the yard and smiled broadly. He approached and Ben found himself suddenly apprehensive.

“Is this a set-up?” he asked in a low voice as Finn got close. “Is Dameron going to jump me or something?”

“Nah,” said Finn dismissively. “I’ll go get Oxford. You’ll get along fine. This girl’s the real deal.” He turned and jogged away.

“Girl?” Ben called after him. “What girl?”

The other man practically had to shove her in Ben’s direction, but she came eventually, albeit with an expression of absolute horror on her face. Ben didn’t consider himself to be scary enough to merit that. He cleared his throat as she got close, and she shied away from him like a spooked horse.

“...Oxford?” he inquired, unsure. She looked like a typical barn rat -- lean, tanned, rather filthy, with her hair in a long, ragged ponytail. Wisps of it were in the process of slipping loose, haloing her sweaty face. She wore grimy, ripped jeans and a tank top dotted with sawdust. She was also _tiny_. She looked like a strong wind could blow her away.

Size is a deceptive thing at the track. Jockeys have more muscle mass per inch than any other athlete -- tiny horses outrun monsters every day. He’d seen the smallest of women handle the biggest of horses with the greatest of ease.

But still. He wanted to take her somewhere and feed her.

“Yes,” she replied anxiously. She looked primed to run away. “But… it’s Rey, really.”

Ah. British. That explained the nickname. Nicknames were a positive epidemic at the track, and once they stuck you couldn’t ever get rid of them. He’d worn a bandana _once_ when he was twelve and everyone had called him “Tex” for the rest of the summer -- even Han.

“I understand the nickname, now,” he said, and she practically _growled_.

“It’s not even an Oxford _accent_ \--” and he was startled by the fire in her. Suddenly he had no problem picturing her handling Thoroughbreds.

“I was given your name,” he said, and she bristled visibly at that, so he quickly amended it. “Your _nick_ name.”

“What for?” she asked warily, her tension evident in the lines of her body.

It was a pity. She could have been quite pretty -- if somebody managed to teach her how to _bathe_.

 

* * *

 

 

Nobody managed before she appeared at Barn 11 that afternoon, but she was wearing cleaner clothes and it was possible she’d brushed her hair. He watched her as she approached, her leather and brass lead line folded in one hand. It was common for the hot-walkers to lay claim to a particular lead, and use it for all their duties -- using somebody else’s was unlucky, and people took that kind of nonsense seriously around here. The racetrack is where superstition is _born_.

She ignored him as she attached the chain and then Hux was waving at him to get in the car to head frontside. He considered his options. Sitting in stony silence with Hux or sitting here at the barn in stony silence with himself. He didn’t _really_ care about the results of this race -- certainly not enough to go up to his box seats and sit there alone, risking running into Leia, risking the temptation of easy access to alcohol and the possibility of feeling enough self-hatred to be tempted. Sitting alone in your box seats watching your horses lose was a good way to stoke _that_ particular feeling.

The girl led the mare out of her stall, handling her easily, confidently, running a hand down her silken neck and fixing a stray bit of mane.

It occurred to Ben that there was a third option.

Hux motioned at him again, and this time he shook his head. After delivering a withering glare, Hux got into the black sedan and departed, the wheels kicking up a dense cloud of dust.

Ben fell into step next to her and was almost amused at how horrified she was.

“What are you _doing_?” she hissed at him, and there was that fire again. He liked it; it was rare that strangers talked to him like that. Usually they got to know him before being rude. She was skipping that step entirely. It was refreshing.

“Walking over,” he said as casually as possible, knowing it would make her angrier. She looked ready to bite; he had to suppress a smile.

He’d been right -- this was a million times better than another one of Hux’s stony silence.

 

* * *

 

 

She’d read the form -- and he shouldn’t have been so surprised at that, nor at the fact that she had some strong opinions on everything he was doing wrong with the mare.

He was beginning to get the idea that she had some strong opinions on most things.

Ben watched her circle the paddock, talking softly to the mare in that sing-song voice, invisible for a moment behind the huge bronze statue. He wondered if she knew what horse was depicted here. He did -- it was Alderaan, the best horse his mother had ever bred, a champion twice over and a legend at this track in particular.

Alderaan had been born in the spring, exactly two weeks after Ben Solo. Like all horses, he was on his feet and running around within a few hours of being born -- and Ben had always felt his mother resented him for not managing the same level of early independence.

As a child, people would often ask him if he had any siblings -- and his response was always: _yes, but my brother is a horse_. His parents had found it hilarious. He didn’t find it quite as funny. Lots of kids got over-shadowed by their siblings, but their sibling was not usually a horse.

Alderaan was an elderly pensioner now, living in a lush pasture at Leia’s farm, preferring the soft grass and naps under the trees to his case of trophies. He had a statue and hundreds of grand-children, running and winning at every track in America.

Ben Solo had $800 million dollars and a crippling alcohol problem.

Funny how siblings could turn out so differently.

 

* * *

 

 

He waited for her at the paddock gate like a gentleman -- and she hated it, which was why he did it, naturally.

And she hated that he walked back with her, too.

It was easier if you made people hate you. At least then it happened on your own terms.


	10. Chapter 10

“What’s he  _ doing _ ?” Rey asked, as she and Poe peered mystified out the tack-room window at Ben Solo and what appeared to be the gear he had stolen from the set of a major motion picture. Ben was walking around, poking at his laptop, fiddling with cameras and adjusting tripods, only to go back and poke at his laptop again. Now and then, one of his exercise riders would come of Barn 11 on a horse, and trot up and down in front of the cameras for a while.

“Making a movie?” Poe opined tentatively.

“Most boring movie I ever heard of,” Rey countered. “Maybe he’s taking a photography class?”

“He always did have a flair for overkill,” Poe agreed.

The weirdest part of all was that Ben looked positively  _ cheerful _ as he fussed over the equipment, even whistling tunelessly as he wandered around. Rey felt very confused, seeing him smile like that. There was nothing of the coldness or the hardness that she had seen from him before. It was a smile that could have been called  _ friendly _ .

“What is he up to?” she repeated pensively.

“You tell us.” Finn walked into the tack-room, some freshly polished bridles in his hand. He began to hang them back in their rightful places.

“What?” asked Rey and Poe simultaneously.

“ _ She  _ ran a horse for him yesterday,”  Finn pointed out, in a playfully accusing tone.

“You did?” Poe asked Rey incredulously. She started to stammer an answer. There was a  _ reason  _ she’d neglected to tell him. She had no idea how he’d react.

“So what’s the scoop?” asked Finn before she had a chance to explain. “What’d you find out?”

“Find out?” Rey echoed, confused. “What are you talking about? I ran the horse. It was fine.” Poe and Finn were both staring at her raptly, hungry for information. “I mean, it was kind of weird,” she admitted. “He walked over and back with me for some reason. I couldn’t get him to go away until we got to the test barn.”

“What did he say about being here?” asked Finn eagerly. Rey’s face was blank. Finn began to get frustrated. “About Kylo Ren? The Resurgent?”

“Nothing!” said Rey defensively. “I mean, we talked about the horse, I told him to run her on the turf, and he just hung around on the apron with me during the race. He  _ did  _ say something about how he wished he had his camera, but I don’t know--”

“Damnit, Rey,” said Finn, sounding honestly disappointed in her. “You were supposed to  _ spy  _ on him, not flirt with him.”

Rey looked at him, shocked and appalled. “I did  _ not  _ do  _ that _ ,” she said resolutely. “And you didn’t tell me I was supposed to  _ spy  _ on him--”

“What did you  _ think  _ you were supposed to do?” Finn asked.

“Run the horse!” Rey almost shouted. 

Ben looked up from his cameras at the sudden outburst and the trio ducked down beneath the window sill.

“Nobody is spying on anybody,” Dameron whispered forcefully. “This is not the third grade. We are adults. We are professionals. Got that?”

“Yes, sir,” sighed Finn.

“Okay. Go back to work.” Finn departed with a grumble.

Rey turned to leave, but Poe grabbed her elbow before she could. “Wait,” he said, not looking at her. “If he asks you to run another horse… do it.”

Rey smirked. “So you  _ do  _ want me to spy on him,” she said snarkily.

“Not  _ spy _ ,” stressed Dameron. “Keep tabs on. Keep an eye on. Monitor closely… for…  _ developments _ .”

“What kind of  _ developments _ ?” Rey asked.

Poe sighed. “You didn’t see the Form this morning, did you?” he asked. Rey shook her head, bemused. Poe fished a copy out of a desk drawer and handed it to her. “I didn’t think it’d make top billing,” he admitted. “Must be a slow news day.”

The banner headline read: “9 Entries for Resurgent Stakes [G3] -- Unconventional Path to the Derby for Kylo Ren.” Below, the smaller headline said: “Local Champ BB Eight to Contest.”

Rey stared. “You’re running her in the Resurgent?” she gasped.

“Good a place as any,” said Poe, and there was a hard edge to the slight, humorless smile on his face, a shocking contrast to the usual good-natured easiness she usually saw there.

“This is… this is because of him, isn’t it?” Rey asked cautiously, but Poe waved at her dismissively, shaking his head a little quickly.

“It’s a good prep,” he said, as if trying to convince himself, running a hand through his hair as he often did while he thought. “For the Oaks.”

“Maybe it was,” Rey countered. “Before  _ Kylo Ren _ was entered.”

The hand near his face curled into a fist so forcefully that Poe’s knuckles cracked. Rey jumped, but Poe just sighed, closed his eyes, and rested his face on his fist, almost resigned. “He can’t just show back up here,” Poe said after a long moment. “He can’t do that to Leia. He can’t do that to  _ me _ . And if he’s going to do it anyways --” Poe paused, his face hardening. 

“He’s going to run into some resistance.”

 

* * *

 

 

All present learned the next morning that Amidala, regardless of how well she had been galloping at the farm, could not be trusted to walk to the track by herself (and her exercise rider, of course). She made this clear by attempting to walk backwards down the chute on her hind legs, a stunt that only greatly impressed those who have never seen a ridiculous baby Thoroughbred throwing a tantrum in their own special way. Even the old-timers, however, were  _ slightly _ impressed by it. The kind word for this sort of behavior was  _ athletic _ , which in track-speak meant,  _ we’ve seen her do things that don’t seem like they would be physically possible _ .

So Rey was obligated to slip a halter on over the filly’s bridle, and, acting as human ballast, lead her out to the track with the exercise rider in tow. It wasn’t a bad gig--you could lean on the rail and relax for a few minutes while the horse worked, before you hooked them back up and trekked back to the barn.

Amidala was docile as a kitten on her second trip down the chute, and when Rey released her and her rider she seemed to figure out the general idea of what was expected, and loped off easily. Rey sighed, shielding her eyes against the sun which was just beginning to peek over the roof of the grandstand.

The track was a whirl of color and activity. Nobody who has only seen a racetrack in the afternoons can appreciate the bustle and hubbub of the morning workouts; the traffic was as dense as the average freeway. Horses nearest the inside rail were recording official works -- they were in full flight, breezing alone or in pairs, thundering past Rey like freight trains. In the middle of the track, the animals were only galloping, a much easier pace that would not be timed. On the outer rim, going in the opposite direction, were the joggers, horses that were only out to trot today.

It was the closest thing to never-ending beauty that Rey had ever seen.

“Could you move?” asked a deep, familiar voice from directly behind her. Rey spun on her heel, startled.

Ben Solo was standing next to a tripod, looking at her with an expression of faint irritation. “You’re standing right in front of--” He stopped, as recognition flashed in his eyes. “Oh,” he said. “It’s you.” His tone was inscrutable.

They stared at each other for a long moment. “I can move,” Rey said at last. Something occurred to her. “ _ If _ you show me what you’re doing.”

He blinked. This was apparently a surprising request. “Sure,” he said, sounding nonetheless uncertain. She moved to join him behind the camera.

“This… this is a camera,” he stammered unnecessarily, gesturing to the extremely expensive-looking device. A large screen showed the track in front of them in crisp detail.

“I think I’ve seen one before,” Rey chimed in, though with less sarcasm than she felt was required.

Ben smirked at her, and the little jab seemed to dispel his nervousness. “Regular and IR,” he added, pressing a button and causing the display to switch to a richly psuedo-colored scheme of bright red and yellow silhouettes of horses stark against the blue and purples of the background. 

“Whoa,” said Rey at the switch, leaning closer to peer at the display. Then, “What’s IR?”

“Infrared,” Ben replied immediately. “Uh…” He grasped for an explanation as she looked at him without understanding. “It sees heat. Hot stuff is bright, cool stuff is dark.”

Rey frowned. “What good is that? Besides looking pretty?”

Ben smiled slightly. “You ever felt for heat in a horse’s leg?”

“You can  _ see  _ that?” Rey asked, intrigued.

“That’s not even the cool part,” Ben replied. “Have you ever heard of biomechanics?”

“Uh…” said Rey.

“It has to do with how efficiently a horse can move.” Ben was really getting into the swing of things now. He talked with his hands -- like Leia, Rey thought. “I wrote a computer vision algorithm to build a model of each horse and they way they move and there’s all  _ kinds  _ of calculations you can do on that--”

He’d lost her at biomechanics, but he looked so damn  _ happy  _ explaining this stuff she didn’t have the heart to stop him.

Rey laughed, because suddenly something was very clear to her -- Ben talked about his algorithms and cameras the exact same way Poe Dameron talked about furlongs and fractions. He talked with enthusiasm, with gusto, with  _ passion _ , with the joy that comes from talking about something you think about all the time but rarely get the opportunity to discuss with anybody else. He talked fast with his eyes bright and she wondered, suddenly, just when the last time was that anybody had  _ asked _ him about it.

She was glad she had.

Ben Solo was rich and ridiculous and kind of a dick, but he was also a giant  _ nerd _ and somehow, she thought, it just might all balance out.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short! Sorry. I couldn't find a better place to break. Something longer is coming soon :)

Ben had checked the text notification on his phone about a dozen times that morning, impatiently reassuring himself that _yes_ , it would be delivered today, _finally_ . He was going to have new data. The minutes were crawling past. He paced the shedrow, getting in the way more than usual, though he didn’t complain when Hux handed him a horse, saying _if he was going to walk_ **_anyways_ ** …

This was Hux’s way of telling him to cut it out, and Ben enjoyed making that little scheme backfire by taking the lead and walking the horse as if it were the most natural thing in the world for him to do. The grooms were shocked. Multiple stable-hands appeared at his elbow, trying to take the horse back, but he brushed them off.

It had been long time since he’d walked a horse. It felt _too_ familiar somehow, like walking the halls of a house you thought you’d only dreamed. But it was also reassuring, almost calming. His muscles remembered how to do this, even if it was hazy in his mind. It felt nice.

Because Ben Solo _liked_ horses. No matter how much he tried to reduce them to dollars and cents, to data in a computer, to a pedigree and a price tag, he couldn’t deny it. They were greater than the sum of their parts -- and to a mathematician that made them kind of _magic_.

A frightened groom waved him into a wash stall, and he led the horse inside. Luckily this one wasn’t a biter -- he only wanted to rub his face with great force all over Ben’s shirt for the duration of his bath. Ben scratched the gelding’s ears absently, and he snorted with appreciation.

Horses liked Ben Solo back. They always had.

He was ready to jump out of his skin when the truck finally arrived. He was in the back, poking at boxes before the surprised delivery driver was even half-way up the ramp. Hux came over, finally bowing to the curiosity of what exactly Ben was so excited about. Ben immediately shoved a box into his arms.

“What’s this?” Hux asked, swaying a bit. It wasn’t a light package.

“Heart rate monitors,” Ben replied. “I need every horse going out with these from now on,” he added rapidly.

Hux looked like he wanted to bite his own tongue off.

“Heart rate variance is one of the best indicators for athletic conditioning,” Ben reminded him.

Hux left the truck and refused to go back. He did send some stable-hands over to help, with a hissed threat of _humor him!_ , though Ben hardly noticed as he unloaded and stacked the boxes. He was already whistling in that tuneless, irritating way he only did when he was about to make Hux very, very unhappy.

 

* * *

 

 

He spent the morning taking base-line readings of various horses at the jog. The software was still rough around the edges -- he was working on it -- but the influx of new data made him feel almost giddy. He would have a lot to comb through tonight. Not a chance of feeling bored.

Eventually he took one of the cameras and wandered down the chute to the track. The goal was to have the software working just this casually -- holding a camera, pointing it at a horse in any gait, and having it compute various measurements and biometrics. It wasn’t there yet. You still needed to manually enter most of the bone length measurements, and it would take a few more months in the motion capture lab before the computer vision reliably differentiated horse legs from parts of the background. But it was getting there.

He was doing things nobody had ever done before. It was damn exciting. It felt like those early days with Snoke Technologies -- back when it had been him and his buddies and long nights of writing code and dreaming big dreams. But it had turned into something so different by the end. _He_ had turned into something so different by the end. He’d woken up one day and the excitement was gone and his buddies were gone and his days were filled with shareholder meetings and press conferences and all the bullshit you never included when you were dreaming those big dreams.

And none of his problems were actually gone. They were all still there, and while throwing money at them might make you feel all right for a little while, it didn’t ever make them go away.

He let the camera film the horses streaming past. He hadn’t really _needed_ to come down here, though he told himself this would be a good training dataset. He was simply drawn to the track, to this familiar vista of freshly furrowed dirt and tentative morning sun. This place hadn’t changed at all. It felt like it had been waiting for him, somehow: waiting for him to come back.

And when somebody strolled directly into his shot, he couldn’t manage to summon up anything other than faint irritation. He’d have to cut this from the footage. He didn’t need any two-legged critters confusing the algorithm that was meant to look for four.

She’d turned and it had been _her_ , the girl from yesterday. Oxford, that was it. Suddenly he felt rather bad at the pleasure he’d taken in tormenting her. She looked as annoyed at him now as she had the day before.

When she asked him to explain what he was doing, he was shocked. He’d attempted several times that morning to talk about the techniques to various stable-hands who were assisting him. All had promptly and loudly protested that they didn’t speak a word of English, even the one with hair redder than Hux’s.

So he’d done his best to explain what he could, and she had _smiled_ at him, actually smiled like she meant it, like she was interested in his bullshit.

Lots of people smiled at him and didn’t mean it, because he was successful, because he was rich, because he was somebody to be humored. He had come to appreciate those who didn’t bother, like Hux and Phasma -- he felt like he could trust them more than all the people who lied with their teeth.

But _she_ smiled and meant it, and he had forgotten, he had honestly forgotten, just how good that felt.

 

* * *

 

 

Rey came back up the chute with Amidala, who was streaming with sweat but still prancing like a carousel horse. Poe found her in the stall untacking the filly.

“He’s doing something called ‘biomechanics,’” Rey said to his questioning eyes.

Poe frowned. “That’s not a new idea,” he began, but Rey interrupted.

“He’s got some way to automate it. Don’t ask,” she added as he opened his mouth again. “I didn’t understand a tenth of it.”

Poe nodded. “Anything else?”

Rey sighed. “I’m running a horse for him again tomorrow.”


	12. Chapter 12

It was becoming a weird sort of ritual now, him appearing at Barn 12, needing somebody to run a horse. Rey tried to make a joke about him getting some hardier employees but he didn’t seem to find it funny.

She never knew which Ben she was going to get. Sometimes he seemed determined to literally talk her ear off; sometimes he sulked in sullen silence. Sometimes their conversation was easy; sometimes he purposefully picked fights and goaded her into annoyance. When he was like that, she gave as good as she got; Rey had many talents, and contrariness was definitely among them.

He never appeared when Poe or Leia was around, and if she tried to mention either of them casually he’d freeze up and get sullen again. Then you had to bring up Kylo Ren or biomechanics in order to soothe him. She didn’t always -- sometimes she just let him stew.

She still didn’t understand him, not at all, didn’t understand what he was doing here or why he insisted on walking over with her, _every time_ , even long after he should have been confident in her ability to do her job. She didn’t understand why he kept using her to run horses, long after the “flu” excuse got ridiculous, why he kept coming back like a lost fucking kitten.

But at least he didn’t surprise her anymore. That was something.

 

* * *

 

 

Having no horses to run that afternoon and no other engagements to speak of, Rey visited the track kitchen to secure a styrofoam container of what she was pretty sure was supposed to be stroganoff, and took it straight to her favorite place to watch the races.

The racing office sat on a slight hill, and in front of it, facing the track, was a gentle slope of well-groomed grass that lay directly in the sun. It was a perfect place to sit cross-legged in the grass, warm in the sun, eating whatever she had to eat and waving at the outriders galloping past and at the bright parade of racehorses and hot-walkers as they passed back and forth throughout the afternoon. You couldn’t see a thing of the actual races, other than the pack thundering past on their way to the backstretch, couldn’t even see the tote board to know the results, but you could take in the colors and the horses and the people and watch the afternoon storm clouds roll in over the distant grandstand.

It was her spot -- and that was why she was so surprised when she almost tripped over him.

Ben Solo was sprawled in the grass, his eyes closed, his heavy black shirt wadded up under his head like a pillow, revealing the fact that he’d been wearing a -- what else? -- black sleeveless shirt underneath it. She was surprised that it didn’t have the red logo on it as well. She focused her attention on how ridiculous his long legs looked arranged haphazardly in the grass and not how muscular his arms were. That seemed safer.

She managed not to trip over him, but in doing so kicked him in the elbow -- wearing steel-toed boots, of course -- while emitting a rather undignified squeak. His eyes shot open and he rubbed his elbow while looking at her accusingly.

“Did you _kick_ me?” he asked, half sitting up.

“I didn’t see you,” Rey explained. “Besides, you’re in _my spot_.”

He looked wounded. “This is _my_ spot,” he replied sullenly.

“Fine,” she said, turning to leave. If he wanted to sulk he could very well sulk. “I’ll go somewhere else.”

“No,” he said quickly, sitting the rest of the way up. He took the crumpled shirt he’d been sleeping on and spread it on the grass next to him. “Sit down, Oxford,” he said apologetically, gesturing to it.

Very purposefully, she walked around to the other side of him and sat down cross-legged in the grass. He gave her a look that was almost rueful. She ignored it, and instead rested her Styrofoam container of probably-stroganoff on her knees, digging a plastic fork out of her pocket.

He made a face. “Are you going to _eat_ that?” he asked, slightly horrified.

She glared. “You go walk fifteen miles with a thousand pounds of muscle in tow,” she said smartly. “See if you turn your nose up at calories when you get back.”

“Fair enough,” he said, shrugging playfully. “I don’t have fond memories of that particular dish. They used to serve the exact same thing when I was a kid.” He leaned closer, as if to inspect the food. “Actually, that may _literally_ be the same stuff.”

Rey went back to ignoring him, and dug in the lukewarm pasta. “Get good data today?” she asked, wiping her mouth on the back of her hand.

He was still watching her intently, apparently horrified by her table manners. Well, he could suck it. She was hungry, and they weren’t even sitting at a table. “Yeah,” he said after a moment, as he meaningfully took one of the paper napkins from where she had dropped them on the grass and draped it over her arm. This only earned him another glare.

“What do you do with it, anyways?” she asked. Poe was probably still invested in this spying business, but she was just honestly curious.

“Well, there’s multiple data streams,” Ben said. “We use heart rate variation to track health and conditioning. IR scanning to detect possible injuries. Biomechanics models to inform purchasing decisions, track growth, analyze ideal distances and surfaces--”

“Don’t talk about it like that,” Rey said suddenly.

Ben was taken aback. “Like what?” he asked.

“Like it’s a business,” Rey said unhappily. “Like they aren’t _horses_. Like it’s all just numbers on a spreadsheet.”

“It _is_ a business,” Ben replied, sounding a little agitated. “And I’m _revolutionizing_ it.”

She gave him a look of sarcastic doubtfulness. “I’m not one of your shareholders,” she reminded him, shaking her head a little. “You really want to _beat_ this game, don’t you?” she asked. It was mostly rhetorical.

Ben responded in kind. “Doesn’t everybody?” he asked.

She looked at him and the expression on her face was almost sad. “Some of us are happy just to play,” she said.

“Look,” said Ben, and it was actually kind of cute, how desperately he wanted to make her understand. “From the heart rate variation data, I can tell when a horse is getting sick. Just from the heart beat.”

“So can I,” Rey replied immediately. “By looking at their eyes. You can always tell when they’re not feeling well.” She was being contrary and she knew it, and he knew it, too.

“Well then,” he said, and some of the agitation had evaporated. “I’ll just put your brain into an artificial intelligence, and it’ll fight with everybody all the time but when you show it a picture of a horse eye, it’ll tell you if the horse is getting sick.”

“You can’t put me in an AI,” Rey countered, only faking the grumpiness now.

“It’ll be powered by stroganoff,” Ben went on playfully. When he smiled like this the corners of his eyes crinkled. “But only bad track stroganoff. It’ll be very green. I’ll win awards, I’m sure.”

Rey smiled through a mouthful of pasta, and this time she took the napkin he offered.

They sat there for a long while in companionable silence, watching the horses come and go. She finished her dinner, and folded the Styrofoam container neatly, placing it on the grass and weighing it down with her keys. The shadows began to lengthen around them as the day moved towards evening.

When it spilled out, she tried to stop it and failed. “What are you doing here, Ben?” she asked, almost immediately regretting it.

He looked at her, very surprised. “Watching the races,” he said, visibly uncomfortable. “Watching you eat stroganoff.”

“That’s not what I mean,” Rey said gently.

He was quiet for so long that she was beginning to be afraid that she’d angered him. Finally he spoke.

“I don’t really know,” he said softly.

She didn’t reply.

He cleared his throat. “What about you?” he asked in a more normal tone.

She’d walked right into this one. “I was in foster care most of my life,” she said, trying to make it sound casual, like it didn’t bother her anymore. She didn’t think she was fooling him.

“One of the places I lived, the neighbor had some horses. I used to sneak over there and just sit in the grass with them. They were so… peaceful. Calming.”

He smiled slightly. “Guess they weren’t Thoroughbreds, then,” he joked gently.

She smirked at him. “I loved being with them,” she went. “One day the owner found me out there. I thought he was going to yell and make a fuss, but he just brought me some brushes and said if I was going to hang around I might as well be useful.” She smiled at the memory.

The seventh race went off, and a pack of horses thundered past, but Ben didn’t take his eyes off her for a second.

“He taught me to clean stalls, and pick hooves, and throw hay bales,” Rey continued. “I loved it. It was the best part of my day, everyday.” She was quiet for a moment.

“What happened to them?” Ben asked curiously.

Rey’s expression was sad, the bitter kind of sadness that lingers long after the injustice has faded into the past. “I got moved and I never saw them again,” she said. Ben opened his mouth to say something, but she kept talking. “When I aged out, you know, I didn’t really have anywhere I wanted to go. I just kind of drifted around, working crappy jobs, always saving up money for a bus ticket somewhere else.” She shook her head.

“Somehow I ended up here. I ran out of cash and nobody was picking up hitchhikers. So I walked into that diner on Highway 18, you know the place? Johnnie’s?”

Ben nodded. It was a popular hangout for the racetrackers -- famous for cheap plentiful food and strong coffee and an endless amount of racetrack gossip.

“I spent my last dollar on coffee, because why not.” Rey’s voice suddenly became soft. “That was when Finn found me. He asked if I ever wanted to work with horses.” She smiled wistfully. “It felt kind of like fate, you know? Like I was always supposed to be here.”

“When was that?” Ben asked.

“About a year and a half ago,” Rey replied. For some reason, that made Ben smile. “A couple of months in, I looked up and realized that I could _belong_ here. And I had never thought I could belong _anywhere_. But here -- it kind of felt like..” She trailed off.

“Home,” Ben finished. She looked up at him, her face unreadable.

“Yeah,” she said. “Kind of like that.”

They were quiet for another moment, looking out at the track.

"You know," said Rey. Ben turned to look at her. "You don't have to hire me every time you want to talk to me."

Before Ben began to protest, he smiled.

 

* * *

 

 

She ran into Finn in the shedrow, in the relative quiet between sets.

“Did you see the program for today?” Finn asked, and Rey was immediately suspicious. He was smirking in that way that she had learned warranted suspicion.

“No,” she said, and he tossed her a copy with a cheeky grin.

“Take a look,” he said cheerfully.

“I don’t know what I’m supposed to be looking for,” she replied, flipping through it.

“Race four,” he responded, and she opened the program to the proper page.

“Millicent’s entered again,” Rey said, happy to see the familiar name. “Nine furlongs on the turf, maiden race for three-year-olds and up, fillies and mares only,” she read out. Her brow furrowed. “Wait.”

Beneath the description was a small space reserved for a person or business to “sponsor” the race. It was common to see company names there, or a race dedicated to somebody’s memory.

The sponsorship line for this race was simple. It said:

_For Oxford._


	13. Chapter 13

He’d gone through all the trouble of calling the racing officials, getting them to card  _ her _ race, the one she’d told him would be perfect for Millicent, convincing Hux to run the mare in it, and then he’d fucking  _ dedicated _ it to her for all the world to see --

And now Ben hadn’t shown his face at Barn 11 in almost a week.

It didn’t bother her. She wouldn’t let it bother her.

She poured her energy into her work, into walking endless rotations around the shedrow, into caring for Amidala, into throwing hay bales and hauling water buckets. If you made yourself too tired to think, you didn’t have to. She liked that. It had always worked well for her.

Because otherwise she couldn’t stop thinking about how  _ stupid _ it was, talking with him like he was a  _ human being _ , laughing with him, spilling her  _ guts _ to him about a past she didn’t share with anybody.  Because he wasn’t a human being. He was Ben  _ fucking  _ Solo and he existed the same way a thunder cloud did: loud and obnoxious and fleeting and you  _ expected  _ the noise but you still jumped every time.

It was a week until the Resurgent Stakes, and the media buzz was growing. Practically every day saw some reporter stop by, digging for a story while the flash-bulbs reflected in BB Eight’s shiny chestnut coat. The mare handled the attention with aplomb, seeming almost happy to be led out of her stall by Rey and pose for the cameras. “That one,” Dameron always said, “ _ knows _ she’s a star.” Finn kept her coat absolutely gleaming, her white socks blindingly clean, and her tail silky smooth, all the way down to where the tip touched the ground. 

BB Eight was training like a monster, and she looked like a million bucks. Rey was almost beginning to believe they had a chance. And if the thought of beating Kylo Ren -- of beating  _ him _ \-- made her feel a little more giddy than it should, a little more vengeful: well, that was fine. A little healthy competition was a good thing.

 

* * *

 

 

He hadn’t shown his face at Barn 11 in nearly a week. He’d barely shown it at Barn 12, his own territory. Mostly he’d stayed home, shut in the stupid floral-patterned bedroom, hammering away at the data he’d collected already, writing code and allowing himself to get angrier than he’d allowed himself in months when it inevitably failed and crashed.

It had hit him like a ton of bricks, like a bucket of ice water dumped down his spine, even as he’d walked away from  _ his  _ spot -- and it was  _ his _ spot, had been since he was two feet shorter and a hell of a lot squeakier -- on the hill beneath the racing office.

It had been stupid to write the race. And it had been stupid to put her name on it. And it was even stupider how irritated it had made him when Millicent had cantered home in first -- completely against what his algorithm had predicted. She didn’t have the  _ action  _ for the turf. He’d told Rey that. The results from the model were clear.

It didn’t seem to matter. Millicent had floated home over the surface she shouldn’t have taken to. You could run the numbers on a horse -- but the horse didn’t know that. One of his father’s favorite lines was “Never tell me the odds” -- and horses operated under the same principle.

Unexplained variance. The statistician’s bane. How do you account for something that doesn’t follow the rules? How do you build a model with variables you can’t measure -- that you might not even know exist?

He had been stupid, pretending like he didn’t care that he knew full well she was only hanging around to siphon information for Dameron, letting her think that she had some kind of  _ insight _ into him, letting her ask stupid questions and not responding with the scorn that would have been appropriate. She was nobody -- a  _ hot-walker _ .

He wanted a drink.

He wanted his code to compile.

He wanted to win the  _ fucking  _ Resurgent.

He wanted to stop thinking about barn rats with messy ponytails and smart mouths.

He wanted to shake her and ask,  _ do you have any idea what you’re getting into here? _

And he wanted to wrap his arms around her and say,  _ I’m sorry. I don’t know how to do this anymore. _

_ I don’t know how to do this sober. _

And the worst fucking part was that she actually seemed to  _ like  _ him and he wasn’t sure what to do with that. It had been a long time since anyone had. It had been a long time since he’d been anything likeable.

Unexplained variance. She was made of it.

His programming suite crashed again. This time he simply flung the laptop into the wall, barely caring about the dent it left or about the cracks that appeared on the plastic casing. He had another one still in the box somewhere for just this occasion. He groaned and leaned back onto the stupid flowery pillows on his bed.

To his shock, his bedroom door slammed open. Hux stood there, looking positively homicidal -- even more so than usual. “Get up,” said Hux authoritatively.

“What?” huffed Ben, too surprised to respond in any manner more eloquent.

“Get up,” Hux repeated. “And go to the track. And talk to your little hot-walker friend.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Ben tried to stonewall, but Hux saw straight through him. Even though he was entirely unsure about the person he was since he had come back from Luke, Hux knew that nebulous, still-forming person better than anyone. As much as it pained him to admit it, Hux was really the closest thing he could claim to a friend in the months since he had gotten sober. Certainly nobody he’d claimed as a friend from before had hung around.

“Don’t give me that,” said Hux. “I live here. I see you every day. For twenty-four hours after you go on one of your walkabouts with that girl, you are perfectly bearable. Once that expires, you go back to  _ this _ .” His nose crinkled with distaste. “Of course all my hands are pissed at how determined you seem to be to put them out of a job, but I can have happy employees or I can have a happy you. Since I don’t live with my employees and have to deal with them throwing things through walls like overgrown children, I am choosing you. Get dressed. Go to the track. Apologize for whatever you did. Stop destroying the house.” Hands on his hips in the style of a disapproving teacher, he gave Ben one last stern glare and exited the room.

Ben hadn’t felt so thoroughly lectured since grade school.

He wanted a fucking  _ drink _ .

He picked up his coat instead.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anybody who's ever taken riding lessons will empathize with this chapter.

The best part was that Poe was teaching her to _ride_ . Then again, the worst part was that _Poe_ was teaching her to ride.

He wasn’t good at it. There was no nice way to say it. He could get on the horse and _show_ her what he meant, but he was completely unable to explain it in words. Or maybe that was just the nature of riding -- it wasn’t an easy thing to explain.

It wasn’t an easy thing to _do_ , either, although he sure made it look that way.

“You’re sitting too far back,” he would say, leaning on the fence of the round pen while she rode Chewbacca in endless circles. “Lean forward.”

And thirty seconds later, as she tried to obey his orders: “You’re leaning forward too much. Sit back!”

“Don’t grip with your calves,” he’d advise her.

“Don’t grip with your knees,” he’d say on her next time around.

“And not with your thighs either.”

She wanted to scream. She had to grip with _something_. He seemed to think she could stay on the horse using some kind of voodoo magic. And if she heard him say “Heels down!” one more time she figured she’d just quit.

“Keep your hands down. But out in front of you. But not too much. And keep tension in the reins, but don’t pull on them and don’t balance on them.”

Rey might have actually screamed when he came out with that one, but Chewbacca was basically bomb-proof and barely flicked an ear at her outburst.

She’d watched a lot of movies about girls and horses in her younger years, and it had always seemed to her like all one had to do was to feel a deep love for a horse and then jump on and go and everything would be fine and dandy. All of those movies had lied. She felt unsteady and unbalanced and an inch away from sliding off in any direction. Chewbacca behaved himself, but that was mostly due to his nature and not anything she was doing right. If she slid to one side too much, he would stop himself smartly and turn his head to look at her -- if he had been capable of rolling his eyes, he would have been.

And when she got off, her legs felt like jelly and she was sore in places she didn’t even know you _could_ be sore.

But she had no intention of giving up.

She finished tacking Chewbacca up and headed for the round pens for her afternoon lesson. Poe had dashed off to take a phone call, but he trusted her enough to go in and start warming up on her own. Chewbacca followed her, mournful as usual. She led him into the sandy round pen and latched the gate behind them. Chewie took a moment to rub his head soulfully against her shoulder, and she scratched his hairy ears. “It’ll be a short one today, bud,” she assured him, and this seemed to hearten him.

She put one foot in the stirrup and swung up into the saddle. At least _that_ was getting a bit easier. The first few times she’d mounted it had felt like trying to climb a cliff face with only one leg and two very shaky handholds. She adjusted her grip on the reins, pushed her feet into the stirrups, and sent Chewie off at a gentle walk.

As he warmed up, Rey focused on her posture. Heels down, arms out in front, back straight, shoulders relaxed, eyes looking up. She checked each aspect of her equitation in turn; all seemed well. At a dead walk, she could hold it together pretty decently.

She pushed Chewie into a trot, and _this_ was where it all fell apart. The trot or jog is a naturally rocky gait, bouncy and uncomfortable to sit. To this end the equestrian _posts_ , rising up on her legs and sitting back down on the saddle repeatedly to escape the worst of the jolts. Poe made it look very easy, natural and fluid.

Rey made it look like a wet cat trying to climb out of a slippery bathtub.

There was a timing to it she just could not grasp. As Chewbacca jogged sedately onwards, she craned her head to watch his legs. _Inside front forward, up_ , she recited in her head. _Outside front forward_ \-- no. The saddle smacked her in the ass and she knew the rhythm was off. Was it _inside front back_? She leaned to look again, and Chewie got fed up with her sloppy balance and slowed himself back to a grumpy walk. She sighed loudly in exasperation, patting Chewie’s neck as she did so, so that he would know it wasn’t directed at him.

“You’re thinking about it too much,” said a familiar voice.

Rey startled, looking up to realize that Ben Solo was leaning on the fence of the round pen, looking at her carefully. She set her mouth into a hard line and decided to ignore him.

Ben, of course, kept talking. “It’s not something you can _reason_ out,” he went on. “You have to _feel_ it.”

“I’m trying,” she replied through gritted teeth.

Ben ignored the hostility. “Put him into a trot,” he said. “Then drop the reins and close your eyes.”

She stared at him in disbelief. “I’m not closing my eyes while I’m on a horse,” she stated.

Ben sighed. “You’re in a round pen. He can’t go anywhere.”

“No,” she said stubbornly, pulling Chewie into the center of the pen and halting him.

And then Ben was climbing over the fence -- because _of course he was_ \-- and approaching. He held out a hand to Chewie, who sniffed it lazily and immediately lost interest.

“Go away,” said Rey.

“I’m only trying to help.”

“You’re not.”

Ben smirked at her, then reached up and slipped Chewie’s bridle over his ears before Rey could even react. He swung the reins towards Chewie, clucking to him to encourage him to move, and Chewie obediently trotted to the rail.

“Ben!” Rey shrieked, clinging to the saddle.

“Relax,” he said calmly.

“How can I relax on a _runaway horse_?”

“It’s a round pen. He can’t go anywhere but in circles. It’s fine,” Ben reassured her, flicking the reins at Chewie every so often to keep him moving around the pen. “Now, sit deep in the saddle and _close your eyes_.”

“No!”

“I’ll just keep lunging him until you do,” said Ben mildly.

She took her attention off clinging to the saddle for dear life to glare at him. He was dead serious. “Fine!” she said, and did.

“Good,” said Ben, sounding entirely too smug. “Now sit _deep_ . Don’t bounce. Move _with_ him.”

Rey tried. It was not comfortable.

“Drop your shoulders, relax your legs. Your legs are like shock absorbers -- if you hold them rigid you’re going to bounce.”

Rey ground her teeth, but tried.

“Feel the rhythm of the gait, and now… post! Up! Up! Up!” He called out “up”’s as the appropriate moment came in Chewie’s trot. His timing seemed desperately off to Rey, but she tried it.

She came out of the saddle and back down. The saddle didn’t slap her in the ass this time. Chewie didn’t tense as she smacked down into the seat. She rocked back up, and down. Up and down. They were in sync now, she and Chewie -- it felt perfect.

She realized that he hadn’t called out an “up” in quite a while. She opened her eyes, and Chewie pulled himself up as Ben stopped giving him incentive to move. The pony stood stock still, glancing suspiciously at Ben. She just stared at him.

The grin on his face could _only_ be described as shit-eating.

“That was good,” he said, walking towards her until he stood by her leg. “Remember, you don’t post straight up and down. It’s more…” He reached out and placed his hand on the small of her back and _pushed_. “Forward and back. Push your hips forward, and then sit back,” he said, acting completely oblivious to the shade of crimson Rey’s face had just turned. She let him guide her out of the saddle and back down.

“Okay,” she said quietly.

“Try it,” he replied, withdrawing his hand as he grinning up at her.

“Can I have the bridle back?”

He sighed gustily, but began to reinstall it. “Dameron’s gone soft,” he scoffed. “When we learned to ride, we had to _earn_ our saddles.”

“Well, maybe he’s just grown a brain,” Rey replied smartly. “Because that sounds _really_ dangerous.”

Ben handed her the reins. “It didn’t make us pretty riders -- but we were hard to dislodge.” He smiled fondly at the memory.

Rey was looking at him curiously. “ _You_ should get on then,” she suggested, a bit of playfulness slipping into her tone despite her best intentions.

Ben laughed. “I haven’t been on a horse in fifteen years, Oxford,” he said dismissively. “Now get on that rail and post.”

She guided Chewie back to the rail, cued him for the trot, and… posted. Just like that. It felt so easy -- she couldn’t imagine how it had ever seemed difficult. “This okay?” she asked.

“I mean you’re on the wrong diagonal--”

“ _What in the flying fuck is a diagonal?_ ”

“--but don’t worry about it. That’s perfect.”


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really struggled with this one. I hope it reads OK. 
> 
> (But I got Luke on an island!)

Rey learned more about riding in thirty minutes with Ben than she had in two weeks under Poe’s tutelage. Already she felt her seat had become infinitely more secure, her balance more even, her legs steadier. And though he had threatened several times to send Chewie into a canter -- a faster gait than anything Rey had previously attempted -- Ben had not managed to kill her -- yet.

“Hold that two-point,” he laughed, watching her groan as she shifted back into the physically-demanding position, which required balancing your weight over the horse’s neck using only your legs. 

“If I can’t walk tomorrow, Poe is going to be  _ very _ unhappy,” Rey responded, playfully stern. Ben was silent, but one look at his face informed her that he was internally warring with potential less wholesome interpretations of that statement.

Her phone vibrated in her pocket. Rey stopped the pony near Ben’s position on the fence and pulled it out.

“Texting and riding? How reckless,” Ben observed.

“Speak of the devil,” said Rey. “Poe’s on his way.” She looked up apologetically at Ben, who shrugged.

“Guess that’s my cue,” he said, a little wistfully. Rey nodded, about to ask the pony to walk off. “One thing,” Ben added, reaching out to catch her elbow. Rey paused.

“I’m having a party the night before the Resurgent,” Ben said. “It’s one of Han’s traditions -- you have the party before the race because you won’t feel like having it if you lose.” He stopped, looking up at her almost nervously. “I want you to come,” he said slowly.

“Um…” Rey deferred, a panicky feeling rising in her throat.

“It’ll be fun. Good company. Lots of food. Excellent champagne, or so I’m told,” Ben continued.

Rey quirked a smile, catching the oddness of his phrasing. “They don’t let you have any?” she asked, amused.

Ben swallowed. “I’m…” he began thickly. “I’ve… I’m eighteen months sober,” he managed at last. He looked up at her and there was actual fear in his eyes, fear of how she would react, what she would think. 

“Th-that’s awesome,” Rey stammered. “Uh, congrats. I mean, that’s great. Good for you.” She was rambling, unsure of how to respond.

“So you’ll come?” Ben asked earnestly. He still had hold of her elbow.

“Sure,” said Rey. “I’ll come.”

Ben grinned.

 

* * *

 

 

_ Eighteen months earlier _ ...

 

It had taken two years, six private investigators, and more money that he cared to admit, but Ben Solo had finally done it. The small bungalow he stood in front of resided on an obscure Caribbean island only accessible via bribing some of the locals to take you there on a boat in dishearteningly poor repair. Even then, they were suspicious, guarded: protective of that place you wouldn’t find on any map. The man who lived there had gained their trust, and they did not give trust to foreigners easily.

The cottage was constructed of rough, unstripped wood, roofed with palm fronds. There was no glass in the windows. It looked like something stolen from the set of Lost. 

Ben had barely reached the porch when the crude door swung open, and he found himself staring down the barrel of a shotgun.

“You with the Feds?” demanded the bearded man who held the gun. The face was older, more weathered, more harsh than Ben remembered, but there could be no doubt.

“N-no!” Ben stammered. “Uncle Luke, it’s me! It’s Ben!”

 

* * *

 

 

Luke ‘Skywalker’ Organa had been on the run from the federal government ever since his illegal underground gambling ring had been exposed in the 80s. Ben had gotten the occasional postcard from him since then, always post-marked from a different county, and every few years Leia would get a phone call, staticy and distorted. There had always been rumors -- primarily that he was on an island somewhere, but there are a hell of a lot of islands in the world, and he’d hidden well.

“What are you doing here, Ben?” Luke asked. He’d lowered the shotgun, but he hadn’t put it down.

And Ben didn’t know. He didn’t have the faintest idea. When he’d gotten the call that his investigators had finally found his uncle he’d been in the middle of a mid-week bender in Berlin. He felt sick to his stomach and sick in his heart when he answered the phone. And when the man on the other end had said those words --  _ we’ve found Skywalker _ \-- all he wanted to do was get there. More than he wanted another drink. More than he wanted anything.

He’d caught a plane, and then a smaller plane -- a boat, and then a smaller boat -- and there’d been airport bars, and certainly places in Puerto Rico to get drunk and somehow it hadn’t even occurred to him to stop. And here at last he stood, on the most perfect beach he could possibly imagine, in front of a man he had not seen since he was a small child -- seventy-two hours sober, which was twenty-four more than he’d managed in a very long time. 

And he didn’t have any idea why.

Except that there was something, very deep inside him, that wanted something to change. 

There was a part of him that didn’t want to end up like his grandfather. 

It was nothing he could put into words, but to his own surprise Ben began to talk. He told his uncle everything. He told Luke how he’d starting drinking, in college because everybody else was, how it had started as a social norm and ended with him getting drunk alone in his room in front of his computer, writing code because at some point he coded better drunk. How leaving school hadn’t helped at all because suddenly there was more money than he knew what to do with, more parties and more people to impress and still so much silence to fill, so many hours of the day when he had nobody to talk to but himself and in desperation he’d kept drinking until he couldn’t even hear himself, couldn’t hear the admonitions, the accusations, the insidious loneliness whispering to him from the darkness.

How Han and Leia had realized they were losing him when he was already lost.

How they’d begged him to get help, and how he’d pushed them away, sometimes diffidently, sometimes violently, always cruelly.

How Leia had cried and Han had only growled something about too much Vader. Too much darkness, too much addiction, too  _ broken _ , there from the beginning in his DNA. There was never any hope for him. His course had been set long before he’d had a hand in it.

How they’d finally given up on him.

He’d given up on himself first, of course. It just took them a while to figure that out.

When Ben finished, Luke was quiet for a long time. “You know I’ve struggled with this too,” he said finally, pensively.

“Yes,” said Ben. “That’s why I came to you. You  _ understand _ .”

“This is what killed your grandfather,” Luke stated. “By the time he asked for help it was too late. I couldn’t save him.”

Ben was silent, a feeling of terror growing inside him, about what his uncle was trying to say.  _ You are too late _ .  _ I can’t save you _ .

“How long can you stay?” Luke asked at last.

“How long will it take?” Ben replied. “I sold my company. There’s nothing waiting for me out there. There’s nothing to go back to.”

Luke regarded him quietly, a small smile beginning on his face. “You’ve heard of twelve steps programs, I assume?” he asked.

Ben grimaced. “Yes,” he said.

“I’ve got my own,” Luke said cryptically. “More steps. Less fun. You in?”

“Yes,” Ben replied instantly. “Anything.”

Luke smiled his sly smile. “Step one: take this axe. There’s about four cords of firewood out back that needs splitting.”

 

* * *

 

 

The first fifty or so steps all seemed to involve physical labor that Luke had been putting off. Ben hauled tanks back and forth from the spring further inland, re-thatched the roof, cleared land to expand Luke’s small vegetable garden. He scrubbed algae from the rain barrels and learned to hack open coconuts. The days passed and he and Luke barely talked, except when Luke gave him new steps to do.

Step 67 involved fishing, which Ben had never done in his life, and for this one Luke took him out on his little motor boat, and they stayed out there all day, sweating under the tropical sun in companionable silence. Ben didn’t manage to catch a fish that day, but he would have plenty of other chances.

Step 75 was watching the sunset and meditating, and afterwards this step repeated almost every night. 

Step 96 was hiking through the dense jungle, clearing a new path with a machete, nursing scratches from a thousand thorns. Once the path was clear he ran it every morning before the sun got too hot.

At some point they both lost count of the step number. By then it didn’t matter anymore. Ben was leaner and more tanned than he’d ever been -- his eyes were bright and his mind was clear. 

For first time in a long time, he didn’t feel sick. He felt  _ whole _ .

 

* * *

 

 

On what would be his last night on the little island, though he didn’t know it yet, Ben built a fire on the beach in front of the bungalow as he had many times before. He and Luke ate roasted fish and drank clear spring-water, and sat back in the cool sand under the light of a million stars and the lonely moon.

“One last step,” said Luke, his eyes gentle in the firelight. “I want you to do the one thing I can’t.”

“What’s that?” Ben asked.

Luke smiled sadly, reaching out to touch his nephew’s shoulder. “Go home, Ben,” he said.

Ben shook his head. “I can’t,” he said plaintively. “They won’t give me a second chance, not after how I treated them--”

“They’re the only people who  _ will _ ,” Luke corrected him. “They’re your family. They are a part of you, always will be. You can’t change that.”

Ben stared into the fire, frowning.

Luke sighed. “You thought getting clean would be the hardest thing you ever had to do,” he said gently. “You were wrong.  _ This _ is. Ben -- it’s worth it.”

Still, Ben said nothing.

“Go home,” said Luke.

Ben did.


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter was a little heavy. Have some comic relief.

“Is it Mandalorian who’s working in company tomorrow?” Rey asked Finn. It was early afternoon, another beautiful, sunny spring day, and they were updating the big whiteboard in the tackroom to reflect plans for tomorrow. Rey was doing the writing, and Finn’s job was deciphering Poe’s atrocious handwriting from the notebook he kept of training plans.

“No,” said Finn, squinting at the page. “It’s Malachor.”

Rey erased what she’d written with the side of her hand -- already thoroughly stained with dry erase marker -- and wrote in the correct name. “Where do they _get_ these names?” she wondered aloud. “Okay -- how about Tatooine?”

“Jogs tomorrow, with the pony,” Finn read. “So… how’s the boyfriend?”

Rey stopped writing for a moment to frown at him. “No idea what you’re talking about,” she replied airily.

“Come _onnn_ ,” Finn pleaded playfully. “I saw your little riding lesson yesterday.”

Rey felt her cheeks flushing. “I mean,” she said quickly. “He just walked up. I told him to go away and he didn’t. He was just being annoying.”

“Mmmhmmm,” Finn hummed skeptically.

“It was nothing,” Rey went on.

Finn was silent.

“Like, literally nothing.”

“You sure have a lot to say about it for it being _nothing_ ,” Finn replied smartly.

“Is Naboo galloping tomorrow?” Rey asked, ignoring him.

“Yes,” Finn replied. “Rey. Come on. I’m not judging you -- honestly I’m glad. I was starting to think you were some kind of loveless robot. It’s just… _him_?”

Rey sighed. “There’s nothing going on. Honestly.”

“But there might be,” Finn teased. "Eventually."

Rey scrunched her eyes closed and rubbed the bridge of her nose.

“Maybe.”

 

* * *

 

 

The whiteboard filled out, Rey left the shed-row and began her short walk home. She was quite surprised when a massive black truck pulled up next to her and stopped. The passenger’s side window rolled down, and the blonde woman Rey recognized as Hux’s assistant trainer Phasma leaned out. “Get in,” she said cheerily. Hux himself was behind the wheel, looking as sour as he ever did.

Rey stared at her, frozen. “Um… am I being kidnapped?” she asked.

“Were you planning on wearing _that_ to Solo’s premature celebration party?” Phasma asked with a smirk.

Rey looked down at her ragged jeans and filthy tank top. “I was going to wash them first,” she replied reproachfully.

“Get in,” Hux repeated shortly. And then, quietly, almost to himself: “This is going to harder than I thought.”

Rey considered being hurt, but acknowledged that he probably had a point. “Promise I’m not being kidnapped?” she asked.

Phasma rolled her eyes. “We have one kid already,” she said. “We don’t need another one.”

Rey shrugged and climbed up into the backseat of the truck. “Whoa,” she said, as she slammed the door and beheld the sleek leather interior. “This is a fancy truck.”

Phasma turned in her seat as Hux drove off. “You should have seen Solo’s face when I brought it back from the dealer,” she said with a conspiratorial smile. “It was priceless. Unfortunately it turns out he _does_ know how to drive stick, so my plan didn’t turn out as evil as I’d hoped.”

Rey laughed. “This is his truck?” she asked. She’d never admit it, but the thought of _him_ \-- maybe shirtless with a farmer’s tan -- in this truck: it was appealing. A little too appealing.

“Much to his dismay,” Phasma replied, grinning.

“Where are we going?” Rey asked, as Hux turned out the horseman’s gate onto the road.

“Dress shopping,” Hux replied in a very bored tone.

“Eugh,” said Rey.

“That’s what I said,” Phasma agreed.

“ _That’s_ why I had to come along,” Hux added longsufferingly. He caught Rey’s eyes in the rear-view mirror. “She would have sent you back in _overalls_.”

“What’s wrong with overalls?” Rey muttered.

“They’re _in_ right now,” Phasma insisted to Hux. “And you’re going to do better?”

Hux stared stonily ahead. “I have _six_ sisters,” he said tersely. “Do you have _any_ idea how many proms that is?” He shook his head. The look in his eyes was the same as a man who has seen war -- who has seen the abyss staring back.

“More than six?” Rey ventured. Hux sighed.

“You have your junior prom and senior prom,” he explained patiently. “So that’s twelve guaranteed. _But_ if you get a date when you’re a freshman or a sophomore, you get to go then, too.” He was silent for a long moment. “I stopped counting at fifteen.”

“You know a lot about prom,” Rey conceded.

“I know a lot about prom,” Hux agreed darkly.

“Did Ben make you do this?” Rey asked.

“No. I’m doing this out of my own free will,” Hux said robotically.

“Really?” Rey probed.

“No. I said some… regrettable things to him a few days ago. Things he can hold over my head. Forever.” Hux trailed off pensively. “But Phasma’s just here because I said I would buy her a pretzel at the mall.”

Phasma nodded enthusiastically.

 

* * *

 

 

There were apparently lots of ways to classify dresses, and Rey had heard of exactly none of them. There were necklines and hemlines and cuts and waists, with evocative names like princess and mermaid and empire. There were sequins and ruffles and lace, in differing positions and proportions. It was entirely Greek to her. The only thing she could have had sensible thoughts on was the color of the thing, and that didn’t seem to be an option.

Everything Hux brought her to try on was black.

“I thought you weren’t supposed to wear black in the spring,” she suggested at one point.

Hux arched an eyebrow at her. “This is _Solo_ we’re talking about,” he said meaningfully.

She shouldn’t have been surprised, really.

“I like this one,” she said a bit later, trying to sound interested as she turned in front of the dressing room mirror. To tell the truth they’d all started looking the same ten dresses ago.

“Don’t be silly,” Hux admonished her immediately, looking at her with a critical eye.

“Okay then.”

“Pretzel?” Phasma offered. She had a whole bag of them. At least somebody was enjoying themselves today.

“Stop feeding her!” Hux snapped. “Salt makes you bloat. How am I going to make sure it fits if you keep feeding her pretzels?”

Rey ate two just to spite him the next time he vanished to find more dresses.

 

* * *

 

 

“This is the one,” Hux said at last.

Rey eyed him. “You’ve said that at least three times,” she said skeptically.

“I didn’t mean it then,” he said defensively. “ _Now_ I mean it.” Thank God for small miracles.

“Phasma, what do you think?” Rey asked, turning to the other woman.

“That’s a dress, all right,” said Phasma sagely.

Rey looked at herself in the mirror, considering. She’d never worn anything like this before. The dress was made of a satiny black material, snug on her trim waist but loose as it cascaded down her legs. It was plain in terms of ornamentation, but it exuded classy simplicity. It had straps, but no sleeves, and no back either. She was entirely unsure how it was staying up.

She was sure of one thing though: she looked fucking _hot._

“We’re going to have to do something about your _hair_ ,” Hux was saying. “ _And_ we’ll have to figure out the make-up situation. Do you know anything about how to do your own?”

Rey glared at him. “I literally sweat for a living. What do you think?”

“I’ll help you,” said Hux, and at her confused stare added: “Fifteen. Proms.”

Rey tried a little twirl in the dress and watched the result with delight. In the mirror she caught sight of the second small miracle of the day: Hux was smiling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know nothing about dresses. 
> 
> But I would watch "Say Yes to the Dress" starring Phasma and Hux. Just sayin'.


	17. Chapter 17

Three days remained until the Resurgent Stakes. The stakes barn was slowly filling with contenders who had shipped in from other tracks, though the media interest was centered squarely on Barns 11 and 12. Kylo Ren was the headliner of course, but everybody loves a good “battle of the sexes” story, and so BB Eight was getting some coverage as well. Every time she set foot outside the barn, photographers swarmed to get a shot of her. When she’d had her last work before the race, four days ago now, the usually deserted rail was packed shoulder-to-shoulder with eager onlookers. She’d worked beautifully, four furlongs in :47 and two fifths, and she made it look easy as she skipped over the track.

Kylo Ren had his last work the next day, and he steam-rolled through five furlongs in a shade under a minute, having fought the exercise rider every step of the way. It had been a heroic effort to keep him under wraps, to keep him from blowing the doors off the clocker’s stand as he went by -- if Kylo Ren had his way the work would have been much quicker. He’d reared on the way back to the barn afterwards, and that was the photo on the cover of the Form the next day, Kylo Ren shiny with sweat in all his muscle-bound glory, looking more like an iron statue of a long-dead warhorse than anything made of flesh and blood.

Rey had barely spoken to Ben since that day with Chewbacca, but not for lack of trying. The staff of both barns were in a frenzy. The stables had to be kept immaculate, the stalls spotless, the horses impeccably groomed. Everything had to be perfect for the cameras; in this sport, image really  _ was _ everything. She’d seen Ben talking with reporters a few times -- it appeared that his job had become intercepting them before they could get to Hux and bother him any more than he was already bothered. It seemed to be working well; the reporters were too starstruck to realize they were being herded away from the barn, and Ben made easy conversation with them, catching Rey’s eye from across the yard a few times and winking at her, smiling crookedly.

He did finally manage to catch up with her on Thursday afternoon, two days before the Resurgent, one day before the party Rey was trying not to think about, since every time she did she felt an unfamiliar twist in her stomach. She was grazing Amidala in the yard between Barns 11 and 12, in a rare quiet moment since Derby fever had taken its hold of Jakku Downs. The silver filly was grazing peacefully, evidently having tired herself out that morning after ditching her exercise rider in the chute and going on a short solo tour of the barn area. She’d allowed herself to be caught eventually, lowering her head almost delicately for Rey to slip a halter over her ears, but not until after she’d given everyone a heart attack or two. She snorted into the grass as Rey leaned into her warm flank, as pleased with herself as a horse can be.

“Careful,” Rey warned as Ben approached. “She’s temperamental about people.” While Amidala adored Rey, and always treated her sweet as pie, she had taken a jealous dislike to Finn, often nipping at him as he passed her stall. She’d also nailed Dameron in the shoulder when he was walking by, and then nuzzled him gently while he swore at her. She’d practically laid her head in Leia’s lap to have her ears scratched, but then all the horses loved Leia.

Ben held out a hand to the filly cautiously, and she lifted her head from the grass to sniff his fingers curiously. Then she dragged Rey forward to shove her head into Ben’s chest, almost knocking him off-balance as she rubbed her face vigorously against his shirt, leaving constellations of white hairs on the black fabric.

“They always do this to me,” said Ben mournfully. “Apparently I make a perfect scratching post.”

Rey laughed as Amidala buffeted him about, until, apparently contented, she snorted, coating the onlookers in a fine mist of horse snot, and returned to the grass with gusto. “I think she likes you,” Rey said. She smiled, remembering something Leia had said:  _ Trust the people your horse trusts. The horses know. They always know. _

Ben patted the filly’s shoulder. “She just knows I’m a sucker and keep a stash of mints in my pocket,” he replied.

“Don’t let her hear you say that,” Rey whispered theatrically. “She’ll  _ assault  _ you for mints. I’m serious.”

Ben chuckled. “I meant to talk to you earlier,” he said apologetically. “I hope Hux and Phasma weren’t too mean to you.”

“They’re actually really nice,” Rey replied. “Phasma gave me pretzels. Hux is like a dress whisperer.” She paused, considering. “As  _ well _ as a horse whisperer, I guess.”

Ben frowned. “I wouldn’t have guessed that,” he said a bit doubtfully.

“He has  _ six sisters _ , did you know?”

“I knew he had to have developed that henpecked look from somewhere,” Ben agreed lightly. “So about tomorrow -- I’ll pick you up at eight?” He was trying to force a casual look on his face, but Rey could feel how the tension in his body had suddenly changed, the timbre of his voice pitching slightly upwards.

“Actually,” she said, managing to keep most of the waver from her own voice. “Can you pick me up at seven and I can get ready at your house?”

He looked surprised. “I mean,” Rey explained quickly. “I have about 2 square feet of personal space here and the most private spot is the communal bathroom.”

“Sure,” Ben said. “That’s fine. That’s fine.” He ran a hand through his hair, an action Rey was beginning to recognize as a nervous habit. “I’ll… see you then.” It was almost a question.

“Yes,” she reassured him. “See you then.” He nodded, smiled -- that quick, nervous smile -- and turned to leave.

Her stomach twisted again watching him walk away, that uneasy, light-headed sensation, like losing your balance at the top of the stairs, like waking from a dream about falling.

 

* * *

 

 

Work the next morning skated by, and all too soon the agreed-upon time loomed across the vast expanse of an afternoon with little to do. Poe had been happy to give her the night off, though she hadn’t told him why exactly. She was pretty sure Finn had mentioned something to him about it being a date, because Poe had been entirely too encouragingly paternalistic about the whole thing. He kept slipping mentions of “being safe” into the conversation, and made her check that his phone number was correct in her phone, insisting that she could call him  _ any time _ for  _ any reason. _

It was sweet, really, but it wasn’t helping her nerves.

Rey hung around the barn as long as possible, busying herself with all the little chores that were often overlooked -- shoveling the sand out of the drain in the wash stall, polishing the brass nameplates on the halters, picking loose strands of hay out of the fans that kept the horses cool in hot weather, sweeping the tack-room and washing the windows in there. She even found an old can of black paint and touched up the numbers over the stalls. She was getting ready to brush Amidala again when Poe chased her out of the stables.

“You’ll brush all the hair off the poor beast,” he admonished her. “Go take a shower and relax.”

It was barely 5PM. Rey wanted to tear her own hair out and scream.

She showered and found Finn at the track kitchen, where she drank bad coffee and endured his teasing for as long as she was able. The coffee didn’t help her nerves, but the teasing was surprisingly comforting. It was so… Finn. Maybe it had been fate, like she’d told Ben, or maybe it had just been luck after all, but she was glad to have him for a friend.

That got her through another hour, and left her to pace away the dwindling minutes in her tiny dormitory. She had no idea what she was walking into. This was _his_ world, a plush, gilded place she’d never glimpsed, a place that required black dresses and hairstyles fancier than ponytails. And to be there _with_ _him_ , close to him, with that confusing uneasiness in her stomach when she thought of him and the fluttering in her chest when he touched her. 

She had no idea what was going to happen.

Which was not a situation Rey liked to find herself in.

When he pulled up in that big black truck she thought her heart was going to beat out of her chest, but she grabbed the fancy bag Hux had packaged her dress in and climbed up into the cab. He grinned at her, his hair damp from a recent shower.

“Ready?” he asked.

_ No _ , she thought. 

“Yes,” she said.

Rey was surprised by how close the house was, how  _ massive _ it was, and how absolutely fucking  _ normal _ it was. She had an image in her head of something like a castle. This was just another bastion of suburbia, completely mundane. Her phone vibrated in her pocket as Ben pulled the truck down the driveway, but she ignored it. It was probably Poe hovering again.

“This place is  _ huge _ ,” she said appreciatively as they pulled up. “And you live here with Phasma and Hux?”

“Yeah, it’s kind of a weird roommate situation,” he admitted. She laughed at that.

The phone vibrated again. Poe was going to give himself an aneurysm at this rate. 

They got out of the truck, and Ben escorted her into the kitchen. Her eyes wide, she ran her fingers over the sleek granite counter-top and examined the rich patterns of the oak cabinetry. “It’s like out of a movie,” she said. She’d never really attempted cooking; she’d never really had a kitchen to call her own. But a kitchen like  _ this _ \-- it made her want to learn.

Ben was smiling at her, a bit ruefully. “I’m glad you like it,” he said, as they looked at each other over the granite island.

Her phone went off a third time.

“Sorry,” she apologized, pulling it out of her pocket. “I have to check this. It keeps going off.”

Ben watched as she read the text, the smile dissolving on her face, her eyes filling with horror. She looked up at him, panicked.

“Amidala’s colicking.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry guys :(
> 
> Colic is a digestive system ailment that can be fatal in horses. Since the digestive system in horses is strictly one-way (interestingly, horses are physiologically unable to vomit) any irritant or blockage causes them great discomfort and can progress into something very dangerous.


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short one, sorry guys. Week from hell over here. But writing is good therapy :)
> 
> A LOT is going down in the next few chapters, so maybe it's good to have some relaxing Ben-thoughts beforehand.

At first Ben felt almost ashamed of himself for being so quick to obey Hux’s orders. Pissed that Hux had seen through him so clearly, annoyed that he wanted to do exactly what the other man had said, irritated that he was working himself up like this over a damn _hot-walker_. None of those feelings stopped him from getting in the truck and driving to the track, however.

He stood in the shadow of the shedrow watching Rey bounce around on that shaggy pony like a sack of potatoes, the negative emotions evaporating as she let out a stream of curses at her difficulties: mostly directed at herself, though she did reserve a few choice words for whoever had come up with the whole idea of posting in the first place. He felt himself smile. Her frustration was adorable, though he didn’t imagine it would be a good idea to ever tell her that. He found himself walking towards the round pen before his conscious mind made the decision to intervene.

“You’re thinking about it too much,” he called out to her. She startled, before frowning deeply at him. She was angry with him. She had no problem letting him know it. He deserved it, anyways.

“It’s not something you can _reason_ out,” he continued, watching her frown intensify. It was almost gratifying to see that he got under her skin as much as she did under his. “You have to _feel_ it.”

And he had to steal the bridle before she would listen to him, but it was worth it to hear her shriek his name. Even in a panic she held her seat and kept her balance -- her instincts were good. In time she’d come to realize she was a natural, but only after summiting the learning curve, of course.

The moment she _got it_ , slipping into the rhythm completely even after he stopped calling out the steps, her face broke out into a beatific smile.

He was fairly certain she was the prettiest barn rat he’d ever seen.

There wasn’t a real need to touch her like he did, pressing his hand against the small of her back to guide her into the correct position, but the way she immediately flushed made him glad he did it anyway. The blush made the freckles that dusted her face stand out even more strongly.

He’d never really had an opinion about freckles before.

They were firmly in the “plus” category now.

 

* * *

 

 

When she said Poe was returning, he knew he had to make a hasty exit. He wasn’t ready to see Poe yet. Soon, maybe -- but not yet. The thought was fairly overwhelming.

A ridiculous idea seized him and it was out of his mouth before he could stop it. He told her about the stupid, stuffy party he was throwing partially out of tradition, partially out of obligation, mostly to firm up connections with the local racing elite. And he didn’t only tell her about it -- he _invited_ her.

Stupid, stupid. “Good company” he said, and that was a damn lie, unless you considered old geezers droning on about their long-past glory days to be good fun. “Lots of food” and that was true, there would be a lot and it better be damn excellent with what he was paying for catering. “Excellent champagne” and he couldn’t even fucking help what slipped out with that. “Or so I’m told.” What a prat.

And so he had to tell her what he had hoped he would never have to tell her, would never have to see her reaction, see the pity that he resented so much. And she reacted as people usually did, a bit stunned, an awkward fumble for words, stupid, stupid, stupid.

But she _did_ say yes --

So that was something.

 

* * *

 

 

It only occurred to him hours later that she was definitely going to show up to a black tie event in ripped jeans and a tank top. Best case scenario was that the tank top would be clean.

Phasma was a girl. He said as much and she thanked him for noticing, as sarcastically as possible, which was substantial. “Will you take her dress shopping?” he asked as they sat at the kitchen table. Phasma was working on a crossword puzzle, in _pen,_ naturally. Hux was washing dishes. Technically it was Ben’s turn, but he’d bartered and had fixed the wireless router instead. He didn’t tell anyone he was the one who broke the router in the first place to get out of doing the dishes.

“No,” she said.

“Dress shopping?” Hux asked from the sink.

“Yeah,” said Ben, not having realized the other man was listening.

“Fine,” Hux huffed, sounding as put-upon as ever. “I’ll do it.” He might have been a martyr volunteering for the rack from the way he said it.

Ben hadn’t asked, but it was better than nothing.

 

* * *

 

 

As the Resurgent loomed, it fell to Ben -- the most useless member of the crew -- to distract reporters away from Kylo Ren and Hux. Both were liable to bite if annoyed. Luckily, it wasn’t very hard -- he would show them his biometrics equipment, spouting jargon and buzzwords a mile a minute until their eyes glazed over and they went away. He couldn’t wait to see how badly the articles mangled his ideas.

He let her filly maul him, the little grey thing she was always fussing over, and she smiled at him with the warmth he’d only ever seen her direct at horses. And he was almost afraid to ask, to confirm that she was coming with him tonight -- he hadn’t felt so excited about one of these stupid events in… well, ever.

And she said _yes_ like she wasn’t even nervous, like she wasn’t even having second thoughts, like it was natural and easy and _of course, I’ll see you then_ and having it confirmed just made him feel more neurotic.

Stupid, stupid, stupid.

And all day he’d had that lingering feeling of nauseous lightness, like missing the last step at the bottom of the stairs, feeling yourself pushing hard against nothing but air, suspended for a moment before the crash.

 

* * *

 

He felt almost sad as he watched her admire the kitchen like it was something out of a fairy tale. He tried not to think too often about the vast differences between their upbringings -- but it was impossible to deny. 

And then watching the smile dissolve from her face, her skin pale in the artificial light of the phone screen, fear blooming in her eyes -- it felt like someone had his heart in a vise.

“Amidala’s colicking,” she said, her tone panicky.

Ben had his keys in his hand and was reaching for the door before he had a chance to make a conscious decision.

“Let’s go,” he said.


	19. Chapter 19

Ben was certain for a few minutes that he was going to have to place her bodily back into the truck, as she protested that Finn would come get her, that Ben needed to get ready, that she couldn’t keep him, but he finally convinced her to shut up and get in the truck.

He drove like a bat out of hell and got more acceleration out of that ridiculous diesel engine than anyone had any right to. When he pulled into the shedrow, Rey was out the door before he’d even fully braked.

They arrived just as the vet was finishing up. Finn had a sleepy Amidala by the halter in the wash stall, blood dripping slowly from her nose from the tube the vet had just removed, steadily staining Finn’s shirt. The standard treatment for an impaction colic is to thread a flexible rubber tube up into a horse’s nose, through the nasal passages and down into the stomach, before hand-pumping several gallons of mineral oil directly into the digestive system. It sounds awful, but it is certainly easier than convincing a horse to drink several gallons of mineral oil of their own free will.

An empty galvanized steel bucket, shiny with the recently drained oil, sat in the middle of the spreading pool of blood. It looked like a terrible amount of blood, and probably would have been for a human, but it was a minor nosebleed for a horse.

Rey threw her arms around Amidala’s neck, which was sticky with sweat from the mild sedative she had been administered. The filly’s ears were droopy and she stood with her front feet spread a little too far apart, like she might topple over at any moment. Her eyes were dazed -- she was still pretty high from the drugs.

“Where’s Poe?” Rey asked.

“When you said you were coming back, I convinced him to go home,” Finn explained. “Tomorrow is too important -- _one_ of us needs to get some sleep tonight.”

Rey nodded, stroking Amidala’s sweaty face as the filly swayed slightly, as if in a breeze only she could feel. She was starting to perk up a little, becoming more aware of her surroundings as the sedatives wore off. She was visibly uncomfortable despite the medication, shifting her weight from side to side, tense and unhappy.

It was going to be a long night.

The mineral oil is intended to act as a lubricant to move along whatever irritant is causing the impaction in the horse’s bowel. It is only the first step to treating colic, however -- the second step is walking the horse until _evidence_ is produced that digestion has resumed as normal. (Walking gently stimulates the gut and keeps the horse from rolling, which is what can cause the most severe complication of colic: a twist in the intestine.)

When the _evidence_ is produced, the fact that five gallons of mineral oil were pumped into the stomach tends to make the production of that evidence rather spectacular -- but not in a way that many would appreciate.

Usually you have to walk for _hours_. This would be an all-night affair.

Ben, having managed not to run Rey over after her hasty exit from the vehicle, parked the truck and entered the barn at a more relaxed pace. Finn stared at him as he came in, almost bug-eyed.

“What is _he_ doing here?” Finn asked Rey in a forced whisper.

“He gave me a ride,” Rey explained quietly -- _lied_ quietly -- when she tore her eyes off her filly and saw his shocked gaze.

“Impaction colic?” Ben was asking, looking at the ill filly with a critical eye.

“Yeah,” said Finn slowly, as if not quite believing who he was talking to. “Vet says it’s relatively mild. She just needs to be walked.”

Ben nodded, frowning in thought as he examined the scene. Rey stared at him, waiting for him to wish them luck and depart. Instead, he smiled ruefully.

“What are we waiting for?”

 

* * *

 

 

They took twenty minute shifts: Rey first, long slow laps around the shedrow, while Finn went to change out of his bloody shirt. It was fully dark outside now, and the only light on in the barn was the one above the little nook where hay is stored, next to the tack-room. There was a chill in the air, and Rey shivered a bit as she walked into the light and back out into the darkness, again and again.

Ben had to practically tear the lead-line out of her hands when her time was up, over her protests that he needed to get going, it was already late. She proceeded to stand at the end of the shedrow and watch him walk the filly anxiously.

“You know I’ve walked a horse before,” he said to her as he passed by. “Once or twice.”

“I know,” she said impatiently. “But you need to _leave_. It’s way past time.”

He shrugged but otherwise ignored her, and kept walking.

On the next lap: “You’re already late. You can’t miss your _own party_.”

“Sure I can,” Ben replied. “They won’t even notice I’m not there. The champagne will take care of that.” He continued on.

Back in earshot again. “You have to go.”

“No, I don’t.” Out into the darkness again.

“ _Why_ don’t you want to go?” Rey asked him exasperatedly when he reappeared. “Surely fancy food is better than getting filthy and walking all night. Finn and I can handle the horse. Why would you stay here?”

Ben was quiet for a moment as if considering. “Because you’re here,” he said simply. “Besides, I need some way to cultivate my aura of mystery,” he added, and promptly vanished around the corner before she could formulate a reply to that.

Finn returned before Rey had finished stewing on that remark, in a shirt that may or may not have been cleaner but in any case did not have blood on it. He took Amidala from Ben, whose time was almost up anyways, and Ben found himself standing awkwardly with Rey in the little hay nook, surrounded by stacks of hay bales and the strong, sweet scent of alfalfa.

There was a very stubborn look on her face that he did not think boded well at all. “Well, we can’t stand around all night,” he said casually, pulling down some bales to build a makeshift bench.

“You’re really not going to go,” she said, arms crossed.

“No,” he said, sitting on his bench.

“It’s not going to be fun,” she warned him. “It’s going to be cold, and boring, and even if we _do_ get a nap in, Finn _snores_.”

“It’s a risk I’m prepared to take,” Ben replied, looking at her with a quirked eyebrow.

Finn came around the corner with Amidala. “Oxford,” he called. “Get that deck of cards out of the desk in the tackroom. If we’re going to be here all night we may as well play a few hands.”

“Sure,” she said, as he disappeared back out into the darkness. Ben was looking at her expectantly. She bit her lip. “Fine,” she admitted. “Maybe a _little_ fun.”

 

* * *

 

 

Poker did not prove to be possible with two and a half people and a horse, and the game had quickly devolved into something more elementary.

“Ummm,” said Rey, as she leaned to peer at her cards, laid spread on the hay bales, as she walked Amidala past. “Do you have any Zenyattas?”

The deck had been a promotional give-away at Jakku Downs, for Mother’s Day a few years ago, and featured famous fillies and mares of the recent era. There had been a sister deck, with the colts and geldings, a promotion for Father’s Day, but nobody was sure where it had gone. Rey felt the filly deck was superior anyhow.

Ben sighed. “One,” he said, removing the card from his hand and placing it amongst Rey’s.

“Don’t look at my cards!” she admonished as she went around the corner.

“I’m not!” he protested for probably the fiftieth time.

Finn was watching him carefully, calculating his next move. “Do you have any Rags to Riches?” he asked at last.

“Go fish,” said Ben primly.

“Stars!” Finn swore mildly. “I was sure of it.”

Ben was surprised at how quickly the other man had shrugged off his initial unease and apparently accepted him as just another guy. He was beginning to see that Finn was just like that -- as open and friendly as he gentle face suggested, as easy and relaxed with anyone as he was with everyone.

Rey reappeared as the timer on her phone went off, and offered the lead to Ben who was next in line. “Anything?” he asked hopefully. She shook her head.

Poe’s house rule was that whoever was walking the horse when the _evidence_ was produced got to go home and sleep. Everybody else was responsible for doing hourly checks for the remainder of the night. When she’d tried to explain this to Ben, he’d laughed and told her that had always been the rule. Of course Poe had kept the tradition.

“We used to call it ‘Poo-lette,’” Ben said, unable to keep a juvenile grin off his face, and she lightly smacked his shoulder in disapproval even as she giggled.

The hours slid past. The card game had devolved further as the trio got more and more tired and began to forget whose turn it was. Finn attempted to play a straight and had to be reminded which game they were playing. Finally, Ben gathered up the cards and declared Rey the winner, but she was pretty sure he’d just made that up. Finn wanted a recount but was denied on the basis that the cards had already been shuffled.

Rey was now dozing on Ben’s shoulder, and he was doing his damndest to be as still as possible to not disturb her, at least until Finn’s sudden whoop startled her awake. “We’ve got shit!” he announced loudly as he came around the corner, grinning broadly.

“Rats,” said Ben. “Guess you’re the Poo-lette champion.”

Rey dissolved into helpless giggles, because it was 1AM and she’d been up since 4 and walking the filly since 8, and she was in that state of sleep-deprivation where everything seems absolutely ridiculous and that was _the funniest fucking thing she had ever heard_. Ben couldn’t suppress a smile watching her double over, consumed by laughter.

“I’ll put her up,” Ben said, reaching for the lead-line. “Since her groom is incapacitated.”

“Stall 42,” Finn said. “I’m outta here. I got three hours of beautiful REM sleep waiting for me before I have to go back to work.”

Ben nodded, and Finn left with a satisfied smile. He put Amidala back into her stall, checking her water to ensure it was full. The filly went docilely, as exhausted as any of them, but out of the woods. She would be fine. She would be _fine_.

Rey was still sitting on the hay bales, setting an alarm on her phone for an hour. The filly would need to be checked on each hour to make sure she wasn’t experiencing any more discomfort. “You should go home and sleep,” Rey said to him through a powerful yawn. “I’ll stay and do the checks.”

Ben shook his head. “I’ve stuck it out this long,” he said.

Rey looked at him skeptically as she prepared to fling herself down upon the hay and pass out. “I mean, feel free,” she said. “But _I’m_ going to sleep.”

“You’ll wake up all itchy from the hay,” Ben said, concerned. “Wait here.” He turned and vanished into the darkness outside, returning after a moment with a heavy, bulky blanket which he draped over the bales of hay.

“Is that a horse blanket?” Rey asked doubtfully. She wasn’t sure she cared. She was so tired it felt like grains of sand had taken up permanent residence in her eyes.

“I mean, it’s clean,” said Ben, a bit defensively. “It’s been washed since a horse wore it.”

“I don’t care,” Rey admitted, and flopped down on the blanket-covered hay, and she almost wasn’t surprised as he laid down next to her, and the next thing she knew he had his arm around her and she was curled up against him like it was the most natural thing in the world. She looked up at him, and he smiled that gentle, crooked smile of his. He pulled the edge of the horse blanket over them, and she was suddenly deliciously warm.

Sleep was already there, waiting for her, descending upon her like the thickest of fogs, and as she laid there smelling hay and horse and something indefinable that was nonetheless definitely _him,_ pressed against his body whose dimensions seemed to have been made for her to fit perfectly into, wrapped in his warmth and sinking swiftly into unconsciousness -- she almost had time to regret not being able to stay awake and appreciate just how _incredibly good_ it felt.


	20. Chapter 20

Rey was woken by Poe’s hand on her shoulder, and as she returned to consciousness she was momentarily and incredibly confused, before memories began to trickle in. She remembered the alarm going off and extricating herself from the cozy cocoon of hay bale and horse blanket, to go check on the filly, who only blinked at her with slight interest before returning to her hay. She remembered returning to the make-shift bed and crawling back under the blanket only to find herself being pulled into Ben’s chest with considerable force, while he growled sleepily in protest of her absence. And she remembered drifting off to sleep again with her head on his chest and his heartbeat steady in her ear, warm and calm and content.

_Ben_. For a moment she felt sheer panic, before realizing that he was gone and that if Poe had seen him, he probably wouldn’t be smiling at her as gently as he was now.

“What?” she asked Poe in sleepy bemusement. She could see it was still dark out.

“Go home and get some sleep,” Poe instructed her. “I’ll take over checking on the filly. You did good. She looks wonderful.”

“What time is it?” Rey asked, rubbing her eyes. Poe helpfully plucked a wisp of hay out of her hair. She couldn’t even imagine how bedraggled she must look.

“4AM,” he replied.

“Shit,” said Rey. “I have work.”

“I’m sure we can manage without you for the morning,” Poe said.

“But--”

“Go home,” Poe repeated patiently. “I don’t need you asleep on your feet in the paddock before the Resurgent.”

“Okay,” she agreed.

 

* * *

 

 

Waking up the second time, this time on her narrow mattress in the track dormitory, was far worse than the first, because upon seeing the sunlight streaming through her window Rey leapt forcefully out of bed in a full-blown panic that she had slept through work.

It was 9AM. She hadn’t slept so late in nearly a year and a half. She felt slightly more human, though the sun seemed insultingly bright.

Something else occurred to her with a pleasant jolt.

_Resurgent day_. It was Resurgent day. Today BB Eight would race Kylo Ren and six other contenders, on the biggest day of racing that Jakku Downs had all year.

She felt the low thrill of nervous excitement in her chest. She told herself it was because of the race.

She told herself it definitely wasn’t because _he_ was going to be there.

 

* * *

 

 

Rey dressed and meandered over to Barn 12. The morning was wrapping up, but a few sets were left, and she had work to do. Finn grinned at her, calling her _Sleeping Beauty_ every chance he got, and she’d be lucky if it didn’t stick and replace Oxford as her go-to nickname. Rey first went to see how Amidala was doing. The filly had cleaned up her feed this morning, and seemed positively offended that she wasn’t allowed to train today, pacing her stall and pinning her ears at passers-by, though she allowed Rey to scratch her jaw without threatening violence.

She raked, walked horses, and rolled bandages, and the remainder of the morning slipped away as the sun rose high in the sky. She glanced across the yard at Barn 11 -- something she had done dozens of times today, but this time was different: this time she saw Ben. He caught her eye and smiled his easy, crooked smile. Surprisingly, he then ducked out of the shedrow and strolled across the grass towards Barn 12. Rey put down the latest batch of bandages and started towards him.

But Poe got there first.

“What are you doing here, Solo?” Poe asked, his voice like steel. Rey froze. Ben flinched, having not seen the other man approach. He’d been too busy looking at Rey.

The two men stood a few feet apart in the grass, Ben tall but slouching, Poe shorter but drawn up rigidly. Stable-hands from both barns had stopped what they were doing to watch the scene with interest. Suddenly everyone was very quiet, all idle chatter suspended. Even the horses seemed too intrigued to neigh.

“Just came over… to say good luck today,” Ben replied uncertainly, running a hand through his hair. His eyes slid towards Rey, almost, it seemed, involuntarily, though he looked away immediately.

“Of course you did,” Poe replied sarcastically.

“It’s... good to see you, Poe,” Ben said. He sounded earnest, but Poe didn’t seem to accept it.

“It’s been a while,” he replied, his voice loaded with tension.

Ben eyed Poe nervously, running his hand through his hair again, his nervous habit. “How… how’s Kes?” he asked unsteadily.

“Dead,” Poe replied aggressively.

“Uh,” Ben stammered. “I-I’m sorry to hear that, I--”

“Sure you are,” Poe snipped back. “Not sorry enough to be there.”  
“I didn’t know--”

Poe shook his head angrily, losing hold of his icy calm. “He thought of you as a _son_ , Solo,” he practically spat. “As he got sicker, he’d _ask_ about you. How you were doing. I had to _lie_ to him. He asked about you the day he died. And you weren’t _there_.”

“Poe, I--”

“You were my _brother_ , Ben,” Poe said, his voice breaking. “And I buried my father and _you weren’t there_.”

“I’m sorry,” Ben breathed, his shoulders slumping.

Poe’s face was hard. “Stay away from my horses,” he said coldly. “Stay away from my _employees_ . And stay the _hell_ away from Leia.” He shook his head again. “You don’t deserve her.”

Ben nodded, his face stricken, and left without another word.

Poe was angrier than Rey had ever seen the usually mild-mannered man get. He was visibly shaking and his jaw was clenched as he walked back into the shedrow, to where Finn was standing trying to look busy with a haynet, like he hadn’t been eavesdropping. “What the hell is he doing coming over here, anyways?” he asked Finn, his voice tight.

“Probably coming to check on the filly,” Finn replied cautiously. He seemed just as shocked by Poe’s outburst as Rey was. Rey felt her stomach sink -- she’d been hoping to keep Ben’s involvement in the events of last night mum.

“What?” Poe asked sharply, clearly shocked.

“He was here last night,” Finn explained, as if he couldn’t see Rey’s desperate gestures for him to shut up. “He was helping us with Amidala.”

Poe frowned in disbelief. “He was throwing some swanky party last night,” he objected.

“Well, unless he has a twin brother, he wasn’t there,” Finn replied.

Poe shook his head. “How drunk _was_ he?” he asked after a short pause.

Finn just looked confused, and Rey figured the cat was out of the bag anyhow. “Poe,” she said gently, coming closer. “He’s sober.”

Dameron huffed a mirthless chuckle. “Ben Solo hasn’t been sober for ten years,” he said dully.

“He is, though,” Rey repeated. “Eighteen months.”

Poe turned to look at her. “How do you know?” he asked, unbelieving.

Rey could feel her face flush. “He told me,” she said quietly.

Poe kept his gaze on her. “You were with him last night, weren’t you?” he asked after a long moment.

Rey bit her lip. “Yes,” she admitted.

Poe nodded slowly, apparently digesting this information. “He’s sober,” he said, considering it.

Rey nodded back.

“What else has he told you?” There was a slight edge to Poe’s voice.

“He sold his company,” said Rey. “And he’s really into this machine learning, biomechanics, algorithm stuff. And…” She trailed off, and then swallowed, slowly realizing just how little she knew about him. Just how little he had shared.

“Thought so,” said Poe, looking at her steadily. “Be careful, Rey,” he said. “You don’t know anything about him. Anything about who he is.”

Rey looked unhappily at the ground.

“Maybe he _is_ clean,” Poe went on. “Maybe not. But you have to understand, Rey -- there’s something broken in him.” He looked at her closely, studying her face. “There _always was_.” His expression softened. “I just want you to be careful,” he said. “I care too much about you to let you get hurt.”

Rey looked up at him, touched by the kindness of his voice.

Poe smirked a bit, looking away. “Good help is hard to find,” he went on. “It’d be awful trying to replace you. So really I’m just looking out for the best interest of the barn.”

Rey didn’t object to his justification, but she did smile. Just a bit. Just to herself.

A long silence. “ _Why_ is he here?” Poe asked at last, as much to himself as to her.

“I don’t think he knows,” Rey replied softly.

“I shouldn’t have yelled at him,” Poe mused, leaning on the railing, sounding a bit regretful. “If he really is sober…” He let the thought trail off.

Rey shrugged. “It sounded like he deserved it,” she observed. “But I don’t think he’s that person anymore, Poe.”

Poe looked at her, contemplative. “What person do you think he is?”

“I don’t know,” Rey said. “I don’t think he knows that either. I think he’s only just learning.”

“I hope you’re right,” Poe said. “Broken or not, he’s…”

“Your brother?” Rey asked.

“Something like that,” Poe replied, with a slight smile that could almost be wistful. "Once."

He shook himself as if to clear his head, then turned back to Rey.

“Come on, kid,” he said. “Let’s get BB ready. We’ve got a race to win.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stop fighting, my beautiful space children :(


	21. Chapter 21

Rey and Finn groomed BB Eight until she shone like a new copper penny, her tail soft and straight, her mane lustrous and her forelock long, brushed neatly against her forehead. She relished in the attention, basked in it -- she considered it her birthright. BB Eight was quiet in her stall, but collected -- not tense, but poised. She knew it was race day. She was ready. Everything was right in her world.

Rey often wondered just how much the horses understood. They certainly knew when they were going to a race -- they pranced and snorted, acting like they wanted to burst out of their skin. Were they excited in their own right, or did they simply catch the emotions of their handlers? Did they consider running their job, or was it just something fun they got to do? A sense of competition was inborn in them. She’d seen horses sulk for days after a tough loss, and some positively preen after a win -- did they understand what it meant to win? She’d asked Poe as much.

“The special ones do,” he’d replied. “The great ones.”

Certainly they picked up most emotions from the people around them. Horses are astoundingly in tune with the feelings of the people they consider their own. “You can’t hide anything from a horse,” Poe liked to say. Horse-talk is 99% body language -- they know when something is wrong probably before you do.

And they know when you’re happy, even if they don’t understand why.

BB Eight nibbled gently at Rey’s sleeve, allowing Rey to brush her white blaze. Rey did, and then kissed her nose at the spot where the white hair bled into tender pink skin -- you couldn’t help it.

Finn was putting on her racing bandages -- burnt orange tape on the hind fetlocks, accented with white in neat concentric stripes -- when Leia arrived. She got out of her white car and came immediately to BB Eight’s stall.

“Hello, Finn,” she said as BB thrust her regal head out for pats. “Hello, Rey.”

Rey was shocked that the older woman remembered her name. “Hi Mrs. Organa,” she replied uncertainly. Leia let out a short bark of laughter.

“Call me Leia,” she said, smiling. “Please.” She regarded her filly with pride. “She looks tremendous,” she said appreciatively. “How is she feeling?”

“Pretty pleased with herself,” Finn replied, rising from his crouch, the last bandage in place. “She’ll be the prettiest in the paddock and she knows it.”

“She’s been the prettiest since the day she was born,” Leia said with a laugh, as she began to braid BB Eight’s forelock. “And she’s _always_ known it.”

Rey fetched the bottle of hoof polish from outside the stall door, and began to paint it onto the smooth exterior of BB Eight’s feet. “Poe told me you two stayed with Amidala last night,” Leia was saying. Rey froze, eyes widening in the dimness of the stall. What _else_ had Poe told Leia?

Finn nodded. “We did. Rey was here all night.”

“Oh, bless you,” Leia said kindly. “You must be exhausted.”

“Poe sent me home for a nap,” Rey said, relaxing a little. It didn’t seem like Leia knew anything about Ben. Rey was not going to be the one to tell her.

“How is the wild child doing?” Leia asked, apparently thoroughly familiar with Amidala’s particular brand of antics.

“Much better,” said Rey. “Poe says she’ll be fine.”

Leia finished the braid, and Finn offered her a rubber-band from his pocket. She tied it off with a flourish. “Just for luck,” she said, rubbing BB Eight’s forehead.

Poe appeared at the entrance of the stall. “About that time,” he said brightly. “Are we ready, boys and girls?”

Finn nodded, slipping the bridle over BB Eight’s head. She took the bit delicately, worrying it between her teeth. Poe touched Leia’s shoulder. “See you in the paddock?” he asked.

Leia frowned. “I think I’ll go straight upstairs,” she said quietly.

Poe nodded solemnly, a flash of understanding between them.

“But,” Leia added, her voice growing confident. “I _will_ see you in the winner’s circle.”

Poe grinned in that infectious way of his. “I’ll see you there, Leia.”

 

* * *

 

 

With Finn on one side and Rey on the other, the Resistance Racing team made their way into the paddock. It was _packed_ , with horses, cameras, and people. The crowd pressed in on the fence, and anybody with even the slightest connection to the contenders stood in their Sunday best in the grassy center of the enclosure. Poe didn’t seem to be here yet, but Rey saw Ben in a suit, standing alone next to the statue of Alderaan.

He looked entirely more dapper than he had any right to be. He glanced in their direction and she automatically ducked behind the horse. She didn’t need to be worrying about him right now.

BB Eight was calm despite the clamor, chewing at her bit in anticipation. She circled the paddock with her handlers, only stopping to snort disapprovingly at Kylo Ren, who was practically dragging his two grooms through the gravel, even with a lip chain in place. He looked magnificent despite his misbehavior, his glossy black coat shiny in the sunlight, his characteristically long mane unruly and curly. He could have been on the cover of a _Black Stallion_ novel.

Rey, Finn, and BB Eight rounded the corner of the paddock, and Rey gasped.

Poe Dameron was striding across the grass, straight towards where Ben Solo stood underneath the brass statue of Alderaan. His expression was unreadable, but his steps were sure. Rey was fairly certain she was about to witness a fist-fight in the paddock on the biggest day of racing that Jakku Downs could offer. The headlines were already flashing before her eyes.

“Oh my God,” Rey breathed. “What do we do?”

“Should we call the cops?” Finn asked. BB Eight jigged, sensing their shared anxiety.

“Track security,” Rey amended. “They’ll get here faster.” She reached for her cell phone.

Dameron reached where Ben was standing, and the two were talking, apparently with intensity, though over the noise of the crowd Rey couldn’t catch a word. Ben said something, and then Poe was silent for a long moment, staring at him intently.

And then Poe had thrown his arms around Ben, pulling the taller man into an almost violent hug, and Ben’s face had cracked into a relieved grin, and he patted Poe on the back as he laughed.

Finn and Rey were flabbergasted. Rey put her phone slowly back into her pocket.

“Huh,” said Finn.

Poe met them at their assigned saddling stall, still smiling wildly. Rey wanted to ask him what the hell had just happened, but this was not the time nor the place. They worked quickly and silently, getting the saddle in place and the girth tightened.

Kylo Ren emphatically declined to be saddled in his stall, and Hux was instead saddling him in motion, a difficult trick to pull off but a good way to keep a fractious horse occupied long enough to tack. Ben was walking alongside, though out of kicking range, talking to Hux.

Poe threw the jockey up, and Rey and Finn handed BB Eight off to Jessika Pava mounted on Chewbacca. It was too big a race to take any chances -- BB Eight would go to the post with her own pony instead of the one provided by the track. It was best to keep things as familiar as possible.

Hux handed off Kylo Ren in turn to a rider on the First Order Stud’s stable pony Ewok, who only looked bored as Kylo Ren tried to bite him and got a mouthful of the leather shoulder-guard for his trouble.

BB Eight jogged sedately with Chewbacca out onto the track, while Kylo Ren jumped and bucked and generally caused an awful ruckus, and like so they went off towards the gate.

 

* * *

 

 

Ben was waiting for Rey outside the paddock gate. “Come on, Oxford,” he said, grabbing her arm.

“Where?” Rey asked stubbornly, planting her feet.

“Come _on_ ,” he repeated.

He led her through the grandstand and onto an elevator, and she realized suddenly where they were going. “Ben,” she hissed. “They’re not going to let me up there -- I’m dressed like a hobo and smell like a horse!”

“Just wait,” he assured her, smirking.

The elevator rose. The grandstand is stratified, clearly delineated into social classes. The riff-raff stays down on the grimy concrete, in loud, pressing crowds, to stand on the apron and peer over the rail. One level up are open-air stadium-style seats you need an actual ticket for, with access to various carnival-style food stands. Up again is the track restaurant, glassed in and air-conditioned, with nicer food and nicer views of the track. And on top is a place Rey had never been before, the plush, elegant retreat of the well-heeled, the socialites, the racing elite: the box seats.

The elevator dinged, and as they stepped out Rey found herself sinking into deep carpet. It was even nicer up here than she had imagined -- like walking into somebody’s tastefully decorated mansion. She felt very out of place. A man in a suit appeared out of nowhere with an apologetic expression.

“Ma’am,” he said politely. “I’m afraid there’s a dress code--”

“Don’t worry about it, Terry,” Ben interrupted smoothly. “She’s with me.”

The man looked surprised, but recovered quickly. “Oh. Of course, Mr. Solo. Allow me to take you and the lady to your seats.”

“Thank you, Terry,” said Ben.

“That actually _works_ ?” Rey whispered to Ben as they followed the attendant. “I’ve only heard people say that in _movies_.”

“It always works for me,” Ben replied, looking a bit too pleased with himself.

They reached his box seats, and Rey regarded the comfortable seats with awe. “You know I’m going to have to run back down there in a few minutes,” she said.

“What’s the rush?” Ben asked teasingly. “It’s not like you’ll need to get in the win picture. It’s _me_ who’s going to have to run.”

Rey snorted as they sat down. “Fat chance,” she said playfully.

“Mr. Solo!” said a new voice, and Rey turned to see a reporter with a huge news camera in tow. “We’re going to set up here. Is that all right?”

“Perfect,” said Ben. He turned back to Rey. “They love the reaction shots of the owner,” he explained lightly. “They want to see how happy I am when I win.”

“Well, that’s too bad,” Rey replied. “Because they’re only going to see how sad you are when you _lose_.”

He smirked. “We’ll see.”

 

* * *

 

 

The post parade reached the gate. One by one, the racehorses separated from their accompanying ponies to be loaded. Rey felt the tension curl in her stomach. Ben was silent, and she knew he felt the same nerves. Once that gate opened -- anything could happen.

BB Eight sashayed into the gate, cool as a cucumber, always so much more professional than her age would suggest. The gate crew loaded Kylo Ren last, to avoid another incident like the Fountain of Youth where he had nearly flipped in the gate, and the big colt predictably threw an absolute tantrum as they attempted to load him, almost sitting down in the middle of the track. The jockey hopped off and the crew walked the colt in a circle again, as he kicked out with both hind legs.

“You’d think Hux could teach him to behave,” Rey observed.

Ben sighed. “We drill him in the gate every week,” he replied dryly. “You can’t teach a horse something he doesn’t want to learn.”

Two members of the gate crew linked arms across Kylo Ren’s rump, and half-dragged, half-shoved the rambunction colt into the gate, where he continued to buck and jump. The starter waited patiently until the black colt stilled for the briefest of moments -- and took the opportunity to hit the bell.

The gates were flung open. And just like that, they were off in the Resurgent Stakes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So you know that picture of Adam Driver and Oscar Isaac hugging on the red carpet?
> 
> It was like that.


	22. Chapter 22

The bell rang and the gates flew open, and they were off. The track was rated fast, and dirt flew. The first fifteen seconds of any race is a cavalry charge, a dozen horses in a ragged line as they get themselves up to speed and settled into a pack. The two speed horses went predictably straight for the lead -- but first out of the gate is rarely where you want to be in any race longer than a sprint.

BB Eight broke perfectly and her jockey hustled her over to the rail, tucking her into striking position just off the lead. Kylo Ren broke like a freight train and his rider had to wrestle the colt off the lead -- Kylo Ren wanted to run, and he wanted to run fast, and he wanted to run _now_. Saving energy for the finish line  -- _rating_ in racetrack parlance -- was not in his vocabulary. The jockey was able to rein him in after a moment’s hearty struggle, however, and he settled a few positions off the rail, a bit farther back than BB Eight.

They swept into the first turn. Other horses jostled for position, and the numbers on the tote board showing the current order shifted rapidly. BB Eight was moving easily, dancing across the ground, comfortable in her spot just behind the leaders. The opening fractions flashed on the tote board -- quick, but not a suicidal pace. Rey realized she was biting the inside of her lip, her anxiety mounting with every stride.

Well into the backstretch now, and all she could see of them was a few bobbing heads and the brightly colored silks of the jockeys, all the way across the track, half-hidden by the rail and various foliage in the infield. The tote board showed an enhanced view, however, and focused as it was on the leaders it caught BB Eight moving up to third as she prepared to make her move.

Into the second turn now, horses spilling wide around the bend, and Rey saw the moment the jockey asked BB Eight to go. He didn’t touch the whip -- he didn’t need to. He urged her forwards with his hands and she switched gears instantly, roaring past the tiring front-runners, three-wide.

They came around the final bend, entering the home stretch -- all that remained was a long, straight run at the finish line, Rey didn’t remember leaving her seat, but all of a sudden she found herself on her feet. Ben was on his feet too, and the crowd noise swelled as BB Eight passed the quarter pole.

And that was when Kylo Ren made his move. His jockey swung him out wide and let him loose -- releasing the stranglehold that had been keeping him back. The colt switched leads and exploded -- his acceleration was like nothing Rey had ever seen. He made it look like the other horses were going backwards. She heard Ben swear quietly, but couldn’t tell whether he was expressing upset or awe.

BB Eight was leading, running easily, putting distance between herself and the rest of the pack. But the black colt was eating up ground, gaining steadily. They ran into the shadow of the grandstand -- he drew level with her, eye to eye -- and his advance stopped. They ran as if in lock-step, neither willing to give an inch, the bright blaze and the black nose straining for the lead but neither finding it. Stride after stride, she bobbed in front, then he did, then her again.

Rey did not even have breath left with which to cheer. She felt like her heart was going to beat out of her chest. She reached for Ben, and found his hand -- he gripped her hand with his, squeezing reassuringly though neither could tear their eyes from the horses to look at each other.

The crowd was a wall of noise, reverberating and pulsing and _roaring_ against the walls of the grandstand. The horses swept to the line together, separated by nothing, and Rey could not even begin to guess who had got a whisker in front, because even as the two animals passed the finish line and the flash of the photo finish went off, even as the crowd erupted off their feet, Ben was sweeping her into his arms and he was _kissing_ her like she’d never been kissed before.

The arm he’d used to pull her to him wrapped around her waist to hold her tightly against him. Despite the urgency of his touch, his kiss was gentle, his lips soft and warm. He had to lean down to reach her -- Rey impulsively threw one of her arms around his neck, pulling herself upwards to him as she stretched up onto her toes. She felt him smile against her mouth at that, his other hand coming up to cup her face tenderly. For a reckless moment she thought he was going to lift her straight up off the ground.

For a reckless moment she wished he would.

There would be a photo and the stewards would deliberate and there was half a million dollars on the line and he didn’t even seem to _care_ because he had his arms around her like _she_ was the prize, and he was kissing her soundly, her hands wrapped in his hair.

And then there were flash-bulbs going off in her face and she realized, too late, she realized, the _cameras._

He pulled back, still smiling -- no, he was grinning, he was grinning stupidly, his hand still on her face.

And she could only stare at him.

She took a stumbling step backwards, and saw his smile falter.

“I…” she began. “I have a… I have to catch a horse,” she managed faintly.

“Rey,” he said, and that was almost as much of a fucking surprise as the events that had just transpired, because after all this time she was 99% certain he’d forgotten her real name, insisting as he had on calling her “Oxford” at every opportunity.

Rey opened her mouth, shook her head, closed it again -- and bolted.

 

* * *

 

 

She arrived trackside concurrently with the steward’s decision, the words “Official Results” flashing up onto the tote board along with the photo. It was BB Eight by the barest of whiskers. Rey’s heart was hammering and she knew it wasn’t excitement from the victory. She stepped onto the track and was nearly bowled over by Finn, who hugged her fiercely.

“We did it!” he practically shouted, giddy with happiness. Rey nodded, not entirely trusting herself to speak, but his ecstasy was infectious and she found herself smiling almost as broadly as he was. Poe joined them and Finn hugged him, too. Rey was fairly certain he’d try to hug the horse and jockey as well.

The horses were cantering back, most of them to be quickly untacked, sprayed off, and returned to their barns, but BB Eight’s saddle would stay on just a little bit longer. Rey caught sight of her approaching, exhausted but triumphant, her jockey grinning and patting her neck appreciatively as she loped along easily. Rey saw Hux catch hold of Kylo Ren, who was streaming with sweat and taking deep heaving breaths. The colt was too tired to even try any of his usual tricks, and allowed himself to be untacked and led away by Phasma.

Finn led BB Eight into the winner’s circle, and Rey and Poe followed. Leia was already there, looking radiant with happiness, and she insisted on kissing BB Eight’s sweaty nose before they all got in line for the photo: BB Eight, hot and tired but holding her head high, jockey poised on her back, Finn at her head with Leia and Rey beside him, and Poe in his traditional position as trainer at the filly’s haunch. Right before the shutter snapped, Leia reached out to put an arm around both Finn’s and Rey’s shoulders, hugging them close.

A win photo is a beautiful thing. It is a snapshot of a moment of perfect joy -- it was the closest thing Rey had ever known to pure, distilled happiness. Life at the track can be brutal, unforgiving and harsh. Horses are creatures of tragedy as much as they are of drama. Nobody who has ever loved a horse has not had their heart broken by one. But if you want to remember a horse, if you want to remember your friends -- you look at the win picture, smiles eternal under the glass. A moment of crystallized joy -- a moment you can’t ever lose. The very best way to remember, even if the memory is a bittersweet one. A reminder that even if the story ended up sad, it had at least that perfect moment, a moment you can fold up and hold close to your heart and reassure yourself, _this happened. This was us._

Rey knew this was a picture she was going to keep for a very long time.

 

* * *

 

 

Finn took BB into the test barn for the routine drug tests, and Rey was left outside with Poe, who already had reporters descending upon him like locusts. He agreed to an impromptu press conference, right there in front of the half-open barn door. Poe was a charismatic guy -- not one to pass up the opportunity to ham it up on camera. The reporters clustered around him with microphones and cameras. Rey edged surreptitiously out of the shot. She was pretty sure she’d been filmed enough today.

“Mr. Dameron,” one reporter asked. “Is the plan still to take this filly to the Oaks?” The Kentucky Oaks is the ladies’ equivalent to the Kentucky Derby, run at Churchill Downs on the Friday before the Derby. This had been the target for BB Eight since the beginning of her three year old season.

Poe grinned slyly. “You know,” he said. “Twenty-seven days is a bit of  fast turnaround for my filly. Makes me and Ms. Organa nervous.” The reporters nodded, jostling for position, but Poe wasn’t done yet. “But twenty- _eight_ days,” he drawled, and there was a simultaneous in-drawn breath. “That might be just about perfect.” He grinned mischievously, clearly enjoying the shock on the reporters’ faces.

Rey gaped. Did he just say what she thought he just said? Did he mean…

The microphones shoved back into Poe’s face, their owners recovered from the surprise. “Mr. Dameron,” said another one. “Your filly had a perfect trip. Do you think she’s really as good as this race suggests, or was it just luck?”

If it was possible, Poe grinned wider. Rey knew exactly what he was going to say: it was one of his favorite track truisms. He wasted no opportunity to trot it out.

He practically crowed: “Better lucky than good!”


	23. Chapter 23

Ben awoke in the darkness of Barn 12, nudged to consciousness by the sounds of the backside waking up -- horses whinnying at grooms bearing breakfast, cars pulling in, soft conversations in the pre-dawn chill. He’d always been a light sleeper, and now he was thankful for it, because he knew he had to make a hasty exit. The awkwardness of being discovered here with _her_ by the staff of Barn 12 was not something he felt up to facing on three hours of sleep.

Rey was still fast asleep in his arms, and it almost _hurt_ to untangle himself from her. She felt so perfect there -- like it was where she’d always belonged. Ben got up as gently as possible, but she barely stirred -- he tucked the horse blanket securely around her, not wanting her to wake up cold. He regarded her sleeping face for a moment, and he couldn’t keep a small smile off his own face. Then he left.

Hux and Phasma were already at work, sitting in the tack-room of Barn 11, where Phasma was writing the day’s schedule on the whiteboard. Hux was sitting motionless in his chair, wearing a pair of dark sunglasses despite the fact that the sun would not be making an appearance for some time. Phasma smirked at Ben as he entered the room.

“Ben Solo,” she said, stretching his name out as if he were a child she was about to lecture. “Doing the _walk of shame_.”

Ben frowned. “It’s not the walk of shame,” he protested.

Phasma gave him a sarcastic expression. “I know a walk of shame when I see one,” she disagreed.

Ben glared, and moved to sit on the desk, watching her write.

“How was the party?” he asked.

“Great,” Phasma replied immediately. “I was worried this one guy was going to come and sulk the whole time and be a total _downer_ , but he didn’t show.”

Ben narrowed his eyes at her again.

“We did miss you,” Phasma added after a moment. “Hux in particular. He had no one to dance with.”

Ben ignored her teasing. “Speaking of… he sure is uncharacteristically quiet this morning,” he observed curiously, looking at the motionless man.

“Oh, he’s unconscious,” Phasma explained brightly. “He’s not as young as he once was -- doesn’t deal with the hangovers so well anymore.” Ben waved his hand in front of Hux’s sunglasses and sure enough, he got no reaction.

“Huh,” he said.

“You don’t want to be here when he wakes up,” Phasma instructed him wisely. “He’ll be very cranky.”

“More than usual?” Ben asked doubtfully.

“Do you _really_ want to find out?” Phasma replied. Ben shook his head quickly. “Since I’m guessing you got _no_ sleep last night,” Phasma continued with a knowing sigh, “you should go home.”

Ben did not protest.

 

* * *

 

 

He deserved everything Poe said to him. That hurt worse than anything Poe could have say. He _hadn’t_ been there. For a long time he hadn’t really been _anywhere_ . All those years wasted, all that time chasing -- what? Running away from everything a hundred times, only to find the same thing in each new destination, the one thing he couldn’t get away from, the one thing he _never would_.

Himself.

And it tore at him to see in Poe’s eyes just how _badly_ he had been hurt. There had been a time when Poe had been his brother. They had learned to ride together, learned to drive together, ran rampant like wild things around this very racetrack and a dozen others. Even after the divorce, when Han had stopped training the Organa horses with Kes Dameron, they had been as close as two kids could be.

They’d learned to drink together, too, and somehow that had consumed him while leaving Poe untouched, like everything left Poe untouched -- and there was that envy again, that Ben had never been able to beat. Poe had never had this doubt in him; he’d always known exactly where he belonged. He strolled through life with the easy confidence of a man who knows who he is, who’s never needed to lie to himself, who loves easily and without complications and laughs even easier.

He’d hated Poe for it, a long time ago. But not that long ago.

He felt that rising feeling that was so familiar to him, the urge to run, the need to put miles between himself and his problems, to pray that those miles could fix what he could not. He hardened himself against the urge. He couldn’t be that person anymore -- he couldn’t _let_ himself be that person.

Luke had said this was the hardest thing he’d ever do. Ben hadn’t believed him, then.

He did now.

 

* * *

 

 

Poe found him in the paddock, standing underneath the brass statue of Alderaan, and Ben fully expected the other man to haul off and punch him. He would deserve that, too.

Instead, Poe asked: “Is it true?”

“What?” Ben asked, vastly confused, still bracing himself for the blow he was expecting.

“Are you sober?” Poe asked flatly, his eyes tense.

“Yes,” Ben replied uncomfortably, looking at Poe with trepidation. “Eighteen months.”

Poe was quiet for a moment, searching his face. “Why are you here, Ben?” he asked softly. The emotion in his eyes was raw and painful.

Ben swallowed. “I’m here to make amends,” he said, finding it hard to speak around the tightness in his throat. “You have every right to hate me. I can’t change the past. I can’t... make up for it. But I can -- I can _try_ \-- to be better, to show the people I’ve hurt... how _sorry_ …” He choked up, unable to go on.

Poe looked up at him -- and there’d been a time when they’d been the same height, two tanned boys with messy black hair and mischief in their eyes, two of a kind -- brothers in everything but name. They’d never get that back, the easy companionship of children, the simple, unspoken bond of _best friends forever_ , but maybe -- just maybe -- they could have something more than the silence and animosity of the last ten years.

And then Poe had thrown his arms around Ben, bear-hugging him with all the enthusiasm that made him Poe Dameron, and Ben felt relief bubble up from deep inside of him, some old tense thing in his heart finally letting go, relaxing away, and he laughed then, from the joy and surprise. The Solos had never been a hugging family, but the Damerons were -- and Ben had forgotten what that felt like.

“I never _hated_ you,” Poe said into his chest. “I _missed_ you.”

 

* * *

 

 

Still cruising on that reckless, wild streak of elation, that heady sense of relief, he caught Rey’s elbow before she could pass him and took her up to his box seats. It wasn’t in order to impress her -- okay, it wasn’t _only_ to impress her.

When they sat down in his seats, he wanted to win.

When the horses broke, he wanted to win.

When BB Eight made her move on the far turn, and then Kylo Ren was set loose and rocketed past horses in pursuit of her, he could almost taste victory -- and he _wanted it_.

But when Rey reached for his hand, and then held on as if for dear life, as if it was the only thing keeping her afloat, and he tore his eyes off the race to look at her and lost any desire to look back at the track --

He found he didn’t give a flying fuck who won.

There was only one thing he wanted, and it had nothing to do with a horse race. 

  
She was in his arms before his conscious mind had time to process his decision, and his lips were on hers and it felt exactly as amazing as he had imagined. And she didn’t pull back as he had feared -- she wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled herself _up_ , closer to him, kissing him back with all the intensity and adrenaline that he could feel coursing in his own veins. He felt an insuppressible smile bloom on his face, even as he leaned back to look at her.

And she was looking back with eyes he recognized -- he’d seen the same expression a thousand times, in the eyes of a panicked horse just before it bolts.

“Rey,” he said, but she was already gone.

 

* * *

 

 

The reporters swarmed him before he could even leave the grandstand, but that was nothing new to him. It was certainly a nuisance, however, since his aim was to catch that photographer and wring his neck.

“Mr Solo,” one reporter shouted over the din. “Does this change your plans for Kylo Ren?”

“No,” said Ben, surprised at how calm he managed to keep his voice when it felt like his heart was doing somersaults in his chest. “The filly ran tremendously. The colt needed the race. Our target is still the Derby.”

“Poe Dameron has said that he’s taking the filly to the Derby instead of the Oaks. What are your feelings on that?”

This was news to Ben. He kept his face impassive, not betraying the shock he felt. “Then I guess we’ll have a rematch on the first Saturday in May,” he replied, scanning the crowd for the jackass photographer.

“Mr Solo--”

“No further comment,” said Ben dismissively, waving them away. The photographer had long since vanished. Ben hadn’t even been able to figure out which paper he worked for. That damn picture was going to be absolutely everywhere in a matter of hours. Hell, it was probably already up on social media -- he took a moment to curse the technology he’d made his fortune in. Ben ran his hand through his hair nervously.

Even if he was going to be able to get her over the hurdle of surprise-kissing her, _this_ was going to be a less surmountable obstacle. He’d already spooked her -- this only made things worse.

He caught the tail-end of Dameron’s interview on one of the TV’s in the grandstand. He heard Poe say his father’s words, the phrase that had been Han’s mantra for as long as Ben could remember.

Better lucky than good --

But what about when you were neither?


	24. Chapter 24

The Racing Form the next day had a glorious picture of BB Eight and Kylo Ren in full flight, a head-on shot of the stretch duel that had thrilled the racing world. The height difference was obvious from that angle; Kylo Ren had a good three inches on the chestnut mare, but that hadn’t translated into the win. Whoever had taken that photo deserved a raise -- it was magnificent, capturing the dirt flying and the veins popping on both horses, the intense concentration of the jockeys and the wild determination in the horses’ eyes.  

It was a photo worthy of framing, and Rey might have, if it didn’t have inset in the corner a full-color shot of her and Ben Solo locking lips in the box seats, with a snarky caption stating that Mr. Solo had taken his horse’s loss quite philosophically. 

He hadn’t given her name to the press -- and it would have been very surprising if he had, because even though he evidently  _ did  _ know her first name, contrary to all appearances, he certainly didn’t know her last. That was a small mercy: but she knew it was only a matter of time before somebody figured it out. It would be an open secret on the backside already, where people knew her by sight.

When Poe called her into the tack-room, she almost not surprised to see the Form laid open on the desk, exposing her shameful secret to the world. He looked at her sternly; Rey gulped with alarm and said nothing. 

After a long moment, Poe said: “So who talks first? I talk first, you talk first?”

Rey shook her head mutely, looking resolutely at the surface of the desk -- not at the photo, not at Poe, as if she were studying the grain of the wood with great interest.

“Okay,” said Poe. “I’ll go first. You want to explain this?” His voice was not angry -- frustrated, perhaps, annoyed even, but not angry. 

“Not really,” Rey replied nervously.

Poe frowned, opening his mouth to say something just as Finn walked in. 

Finn grinned as he caught sight of what was on the desk. “You go, girl,” he said, punching Rey’s shoulder lightly and playfully. “You know he’s been on every celebrity gossip blog’s top ten most eligible bachelors list for  _ years _ .”

Rey gaped. “How do you even  _ know  _ that?” she asked.

“I  _ read _ ,” Finn replied coldly.

“It was just adrenaline,” Rey tried to explain. “It makes people do crazy things. It didn’t mean anything, I swear.”

Poe gave her a skeptical look. “I was standing next to Finn when we won,” he said. “I didn’t kiss  _ him _ . Did that pesky adrenaline make  _ you  _ kiss anyone when we won, Finn?”

“No, sir,” Finn replied smartly. 

“What am I supposed to do about this, Rey?” Poe asked, sounding tired. “I work for his  _ mother _ .  _ You  _ work for his mother. It was already a sticky situation and  _ this  _ isn’t helping.”

“You don’t have to worry,” Rey replied quietly. “It’s over, anyway. It won’t happen again.” Her voice was flat.

“The evidence is against you,” Poe said, looking at the photo again. Rey wanted to burn it.

“What happened?” Finn asked, concerned, picking up on Rey’s shift in tone.

“I… ran away,” Rey admitted. 

“You  _ ran away _ ?” Finn asked with alarm. “Are you in  _ middle school _ ?”

“It was unexpected,” Rey explained desperately. “I reacted... poorly.”

“ _ Poorly _ ?” Finn repeated with disbelief at what he apparently considered a vast understatement.

“It’s for the best, anyways,” Rey went on. “Everything’s too messy as it is. He won’t come around here anymore, not after what I… did. It will blow over.”

“I hope so,” said Poe, as he turned to leave. “I don’t even want to know what Leia is going to have to say about this,” he muttered, mostly to himself.

“Is that what you want to happen?” asked Finn quietly as the other man exited the tack-room.

“Yes,” Rey lied. “Of course.”

 

* * *

 

 

Poe and Leia had a formal morning-after press conference outside Barn 12, where the announcement that BB Eight would be targeting the Kentucky Derby was made official. Finn brought out the mare herself, and she posed for photographs as graciously as ever. The words “rivalry” and “rematch” were mentioned early and often. Jakku Downs was well in the grip of Derby fever.

Rey meanwhile discovered that the wash stall was in urgent need of a very thorough spring cleaning and thankfully escaped recognition, though she did almost walk into a reporter who was snapping pictures of the shedrow on a trip to get more soap.

“You look familiar,” said the woman cheerily.

“Nope,” said Rey shortly.

“No, I swear I’ve seen you somewhere--”

“Just got one of those faces,” Rey replied, and ran.

 

* * *

 

 

Rey, who was meticulously raking the shedrow with her head down, still trying to remain inconspicuous, was nonetheless horrified to catch sight of Leia walking towards her. The older woman looked serious, but she held two cardboard coffee cups from the track kitchen. Worst case scenarios flashed through Rey’s head -- losing her job, losing her friends, never seeing Amidala or BB Eight again.

“Don’t look so scared, kid,” Leia said, handing Rey one of the coffee cups. “I don’t want to fire you, and even if I did Poe wouldn’t let me.” Rey took the cup uncertainly. “Let’s go sit somewhere and talk,” Leia said gently.

They settled on a bench outside of the racing office, Rey silent with mortification. She couldn’t imagine a more awkward situation -- she felt like a teenager who’d been caught sneaking around with boys. Worse, she had the awful feeling that she had disappointed Leia -- and she hadn’t realized until just now how much that upset her.

They were both quiet for a long moment, sipping their coffee, before Leia finally spoke.

“What’s he like now?” she asked, in a musing tone, looking off towards the track in the distance.

Rey was taken aback by the question. It was very far from what she was expecting. “Um,” she stammered, grasping desperately for words. “He’s… tall.” She gulped.

Leia squinted at her. “I could tell that,” she said, with a hint of teasing sarcasm.

“He’s kind of a dork,” Rey went on uncertainly.

“Since birth,” Leia added with a chuckle.

“He’s really into this… computer stuff. Predicting races, doing biomechanics… I don’t really understand much of it,” Rey admitted. “But he cares a lot about it. He wants to beat the game, he says. Revolutionize it.”

Leia shook her head slowly. “That boy never was happy unless he had a brick wall to beat his head against,” she said. “And when he makes it through he goes and finds another one. Now, don’t get me wrong, he’s  _ good  _ at breaking down walls -- but you’re just left thinking there’s gotta be an easier way to do it.”

Rey nodded. “I can see that,” she said slowly.

“Poe thinks he’s turned over a new leaf,” Leia continued. “I’ll believe it when I see it. As much as I would like to go over there and drag him back home by his ear, he’s a bit over the age where that would be appropriate.”

Rey had to stifle a giggle at that image.

“You’re a smart kid, Rey,” Leia said. “I don’t know anything about your past -- and this is the racetrack, face it, everybody here has a past -- but your future: that’s bright.” Leia smiled warmly at her. “I just don’t want you to jeopardize that for anything as unpredictable as my son.”

“You don’t have to worry,” Rey said. “It was just a crazy thing that shouldn’t have happened, and it won’t happen again. I didn’t react… well to it. He won’t be interested anymore.”

Leia shook her head. “I wouldn’t be so sure,” she said. “From where I’m sitting you look an awful lot like a shiny new brick wall.”


	25. Chapter 25

Rey didn’t want to _be_ his new brick wall.

She did a magnificent job of avoiding him for a solid week and a half. It wasn’t even that hard -- there was a ton of work to do, and she was reasonably sure that he wouldn’t try to talk to her when Finn and Poe were around, so she made sure they always were. She would certainly see him often, messing around with his video equipment and generally getting in the way over in Barn 11 as was his wont -- but other than catching him looking at her a few times early on, he seemed content to ignore her. Fine. She was content to ignore him too.

Rey knew that running away like she had would probably be enough to drive him away, but she couldn’t deny that she had hoped -- even just a little bit -- that he’d recover from it and give her another chance. So that wasn’t the case -- that was fine. It was stupid to even consider, anyways. She worked for his _mother_. And even his mother seemed to think it was a dumb idea.

How could she have been so silly to think anything could have ever worked out between a guy like him -- millionaire, genius, basically royalty --  and a barn rat like her?

It was ridiculous. She’d been so stupid.

So now he wanted to play the ‘cold shoulder’ game? Fine. Rey was good at _that_ game. She’d beat him at it just like her horse had beaten his.

 

* * *

 

 

Amidala had her first official, timed workout, breezing an easy three furlongs in just a hair under 36 seconds, a respectable showing. Poe thought she would be ready to race by summer. She was really growing into her new home at the track -- her antics didn’t cease, of course, but she went out to exercise with confidence, and she didn’t spend quite so much time airborne as she once had.

In preparation for her first race, Amidala needed to be tattooed -- a series of letters and numbers on the inside of the upper lip that would be used to identify her conclusively for the rest of her life. Rey held Amidala’s head as the tattooer set up his equipment; Finn was nearby with a twitch and a syringe of sedative in case they were needed. Knowing Amidala’s usually explosive reactions to various everyday items, both were quite nervous to see how this would pan out.

Amidala was oblivious to their nerves, however; she was watching Kylo Ren with interest as the colt grazed in the grassy space between Barns 11 and 12 under the watchful eye of his groom.

The tattooer checked Amidala’s registration papers for the identifier, and then laid out the little blocks with the appropriate characters, slotting them in order into a metal instrument. Like a printing press, one side of the block had blue ink applied to it -- unlike a printing press, the ink was at the end of a hundred tiny needles. Despite appearing to be an ordeal, being tattooed with these was actually virtually painless. Most horses barely even reacted.

As Rey peeled back Amidala’s upper lip, and the tattooer raised the device for application, everybody tensed, waiting for the inevitable explosion --

Amidala didn’t move a muscle. It was hard to tell she’d even noticed. A swift, hard press with the tattoo blocks, and the tattooer removed the device from her mouth. She wiggled her lips around, noticing the odd sensation, but paid no attention to her concerned audience, apparently preferring to watch Kylo Ren crop at the grass outside.

Then a car drove by and Amidala, naturally, decided to experiment with climbing the walls of her stall.

“Figures,” Finn chuckled. “It’s her life’s mission to keep us all on our toes, I guess.” Rey shot him an exasperated look,  as she tried to quiet the filly, managing to coax the her into returning all four legs to the ground.

“Have you talked to Ben yet?” Finn asked casually. Rey attempted to glare a hole through the stable wall.

“No,” she said shortly.

“Still taking the middle school approach, I see,” Finn admonished her gently.

“I’m busy,” Rey replied primly. “And he’s _ridiculous_.”

“ _You_ ran away from _him_ ,” Finn retorted. “I’m _pretty_ sure that means the ball’s in your court.”

“There is no ball,” Rey said. “There is no court. There is _nothing_ to discuss.” She paused. “With him _or_ you.”

“ _That’s_ gotta be pretty weird for you, though, right?” Finn asked, nodding towards Barn 11, where Poe and Ben had just appeared, coffee cups in hand, strolling along and chatting like _fucking_ schoolgirls, as had become their habit since the Resurgent.

“I’m glad he has a friend,” Rey said sarcastically. She had pulled some brushes out of her tack trunk and was combing a calmed-down Amidala’s mussed mane.  “He needed one.”

“Uh, Rey?” Finn asked after a moment.

“ _What_?”

“They’re coming over here.”

“Fuck.” Rey immediately vanished into the depths of the stall.

Poe and Ben came around the corner of the shedrow, and Finn put on his most innocent and obedient face. Despite his best efforts, it was fairly obvious to all involved that he’d been talking about them moments before. Poe smirked at him, looking questioningly towards the stall. Finn nodded slightly

“Get her out of there,” Poe said to Finn, sounding resigned.

“No,” whispered Rey loudly as Finn entered and grabbed her hand. “No!”

But he towed her out anyhow and in a moment she stood unhappily in front of Poe and Ben, who was _very carefully_ looking at everything except for her.

“We have an announcement to make,” said Poe grandly.

 

* * *

 

 

Ben knew he had spooked her, but he didn’t guess how thoroughly. She seemed determined to avoid even looking at him across the yard between the barns, and she stayed close to her friends, assuming -- correctly -- that he wouldn’t have the courage to approach her in company.

He felt like an idiot. An absolute prat. How could he have misread her to such an extent? How could he have thought he saw something that so clearly wasn’t ever there? And now of course he’d lost even the easy kind-of-friendship they’d shared, and he hadn’t realized how much he would miss _that_.

For the first few days after the Resurgent, he tried as surreptitiously as he knew how to run into her. He tried to catch her eye across the yard between the barns; he sat on the hill outside the racing office for two entire afternoons in the hopes that she would make an appearance. She avoided him masterfully, always one step ahead, always finding new places to go to ground where he couldn’t locate her.

It was seeming more and more that she wasn’t just spooked, wasn’t just surprised by what had happened or embarrassed because of the photograph -- she was honestly not interested, and she was broadcasting that as clearly as she knew how short of a neon sign.

He was at a total loss as to what to do next.

The bright spot was that Poe, with his usual absolute immunity to anything other people would consider ‘awkward,’ showed up at Barn 11 the day after the photo came out with two cups of coffee and the clear intention to do fifteen years of catching up as rapidly as possible. Ben tried clumsily to apologize for the debacle, but Poe waved him off.

“You’re an adult,” Poe said. “So is she. I’m not involved. Besides,” he smiled slyly, “I have to maintain some level of plausible deniability in case Leia wants details.”

Ben blanched at that, and Poe knew enough to change the subject.

The next day Poe showed up around noon with his car and the powerful conviction that he was going to take Ben to lunch at Johnny’s Diner across the road. (When Poe decided you were friends, he held you to it. You rarely had a choice in the matter.) As kids they’d eaten there probably twice a week, but Ben hadn’t been back since he’d gone away to college.

It was easier to just go along with him than to try and protest.

Johnny’s hadn’t changed -- the decor was the same, checked tablecloths and  50’s Americana that grew more dated every year, the same greasy but delicious breakfast food, “served all day!” of course, the same overly involved and friendly waitresses who called you “sugar” and wanted your life story before you could even place your drink order.

Ben allowed himself to be subjected to Poe’s friendly interrogation over coffee and eggs.

“$800 million dollars?” Poe was asking, almost choking on his food with surprise.

Ben nodded. “I could have gotten more for the company,” he admitted. “But I was in a bit of a rush. I just wanted to be done with it.”

“What do you even do with that kind of money?” Poe mused. “I mean, can you take it to the bank? Like a check for $800 million dollars?”

“I guess so,” said Ben. “Though I doubt they’d believe you until it cleared,. Most of it’s not in the bank, anyways..”

Poe grinned. “Did you buy gold and bury it in the mountains?” he asked conspiratorially. “Is there a treasure map?”

Ben chuckled. “Sorry to disappoint you,” he said. “But it’s all invested. I don’t know anything about it. I have a guy who handles it.”

“You have a _guy_? Man, I’ve always wanted to say that,” Poe exclaimed. “Do you have a butler, too?” he inquired.

“No,” Ben laughed.

“A private jet?”

“I wish.”

“An island?”

“Not yet,” Ben replied thoughtfully.

“When you do, can I stay there?” Poe asked excitedly.

“Anytime you want,” said Ben. “But it probably would be hard to keep horses there, unless you teach them to swim.”

Poe made a face. “If I’m going on vacation, I’m sure as hell not taking any _horses_ with me,” he said.

“When was the last time you went on vacation?” Ben asked curiously. Horses do not shut down over Christmas; they still get hungry even if it is Sunday or the Fourth of July or Thanksgiving. And no horse has ever heard of the forty hour work week, and if they did, they’d probably laugh.

Poe contemplated the question. “Do you remember the summer we were stabled at Belmont?” he asked. Ben nodded. “And Han took us to Coney Island on a dark day? And we ate like a pound of cotton candy and  rode the roller coaster until I got sick?”

“Yeah,” said Ben, smiling at the memory.

“That was it,” Poe said solemnly.

“Guess that’s why I didn’t stay in the horse business,” Ben said quietly. Poe nodded in agreement. “Why did you?” Ben asked after a moment.

Poe sighed. “There are some things in life you don’t get to choose,” he said. His tone was serious, but not sad. “You can fight it; you can run; but you’ll always come back in the end. I was never going to be anything other than this.” He smiled. “I was born for it -- bred for it.”

They were quiet for a moment. Finally Ben spoke. “I’m really sorry about Kes,” he said gently, tone full of regret. “He deserved better from me.”

“He would be proud of you,” Poe said vehemently, and Ben startled. This was the furthest thing from the reaction he’d expected. “For getting clean,” Poe clarified. “He would be _proud_.” He smiled wistfully. “He’d love that colt of yours, too.”

Ben smiled slightly. “What did he always used to say? When he liked a horse?”

Poe put on a gruff, deep voice. “Look of eagles, son,” he said, imitating his father. “He’s got the look of eagles. He’s a runnin’ fool.”

“Look of eagles,” Ben repeated. “I always liked that.”

The waitress appeared and refilled their coffees, and Ben pondered how natural it felt, to be back here, to be with Dameron again, to sit and talk of horses, like he could almost pretend that the last ten years hadn’t even happened to him, that he had stayed and become than man Han Solo’s son was always supposed to be.

There are some things in life you don’t get to choose. You don’t get to choose your family -- blood or not, family chooses _you_. And you don’t get to choose who you fall in love with -- love finds you, just like your destiny, just like the person you were always going to be, and whether you go along with it willingly or kicking and screaming, it all ends up the same. We all end up where we’re supposed to -- it just takes some people longer to realize than others.

Ben had fought against the things he could not choose, had run away -- for a long time, he’d done nothing but run away. And still, somehow, he had ended up coming back. Still, somehow, he was here again.

And so was Rey.

And maybe that would be enough.


	26. Chapter 26

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OK, so geography is going to become important shortly, for reasons you will understand at the end of this chapter. I've been intentionally vague on the location of Jakku Downs -- it is based on Colonial Downs in Virginia, and I sort of pictured it being near there. As a native North Carolinian who has always felt miffed at the lack of racetracks in my state, indulge me in a little fictional wish-fulfillment and let's put Jakku Downs just east of Raleigh, NC, out towards Wilson. It's beautiful farmland out there and terrific horse country.

The drive wasn’t a particularly long one. Ben followed Route 15 out of “town,” such as town was around here, and soon he was in open country. Farmland spread away from the road on both sides -- tobacco was king in this part of the country, but feed corn was popular too, along with cotton, of course. Pine forests surrounded the fields, pungent and shady. There were ranches, too, cattle and hogs and -- naturally -- horses. 

Ben in his black truck zoomed along the country highway, looking desperately for familiar landmarks. He had probably made this trip a hundred times, but that had been long ago. He squinted at an old plantation-style farmhouse -- surely  _ that _ had always been there. But it didn’t look familiar in the slightest. Nothing did.

Here and there were places where farms had given way to suburbs. Rich, fertile land that had grown food for generations made up neatly mown lawns now; hills where horses once had run now saw only cars pass by. The city grew outwards every year, gobbling up the open spaces and leaving behind malls and subdivisions and rush hour and gas stations, paving over the fields and digging up the foundations of the past.

That was called progress. There had been a time, and not too long ago, when Ben Solo had  _ cheered _ for progress, had believed there was nowhere to go but forwards, onwards and outwards, bigger and better and stronger and faster and farther away from the place you came from, every single day.

You can never go back, and he knew that -- but maybe it was possible to go  _ on _ without going  _ away _ . He was beginning to understand that now. He’d equated moving away with growing up for so long, but he had moved farther and farther, running away again and again, and it turned out he hadn’t grown at all. Distance wasn’t what made you an adult, what made you into your own person -- into a  _ real  _ person.

It was something else that did that, and he was beginning to think that whatever that was, it was buried here in these fields amongst the bones of his childhood.

Even if he recognized little, he knew the way. At last he pulled his truck into a long gravel driveway lined with four-board wooden fence, painted sensibly black. The sign at the front was burnt orange and lettered in white, with the fleur-de-lis symbol etched into it: Resistance Racing Stables. 

His mother’s farm was large and excellently maintained. The barns were old but pristine, the paddocks clean and brimming with verdant grass. There was a half mile training track off to his left, he remembered; and a deep pond in the large pasture to his right. He remembered that pond -- he’d fallen into it a time or two. The horses loved it, wading in the water when the weather was hot, some even rolling in the shallows to cover themselves in murky pond-water and algae. They shook themselves like dogs when they were wet, and he’d always found that amusing: particularly the way they waited until they were as close to you as possible to shake and cover you with the run-off. 

It was foaling season, and Ben saw broodmares turned out with their little ones in the pasture to his left, the tiny foals frisking and running and generally making a nuisance of themselves while their mothers munched grass and swished their tails over their friends’ backs to keep off the flies. There were a passel of yearlings turned out over to his right -- gangly, awkward animals, still in the throes of a massive growth spurt. By the time summer drew to an end, they would already be learning their first lessons about walking and trotting and bridles and saddles and lead changes. By this time next year a few might be at the track, learning the family business. 

Ben parked the truck in the gravel lot near the farm-house, and walked with sure steps to the paddock that was his target. He knew immediately that he had the right one when he saw its inhabitant. He would recognize that horse anywhere. Ben ducked through the fence and walked towards the familiar animal.

Alderaan was elderly, now, and he showed it -- his deep chestnut coat was speckled with gray, his once bright eyes dulled by cataracts. His coat was shaggy and rough, another sign of age, and he moved slowly now, taking his time with joints that creaked. Ben approached him carefully, not wanting to startle the old horse, but Alderaan lifted his head from his hay to look at Ben curiously.

“Hey, old man,” Ben said gently, holding out a hand. Alderaan came towards him at once, touching his nose to Ben’s hand and nuzzling it. Ben laughed, reaching up to scratch the horse’s forehead and Alderaan groaned with pleasure, pressing into him affectionately.

They say elephants never forget, but horses do pretty well in that department, too.

“I haven’t seen you in a long time, bud,” Ben said softly, brushing Alderaan’s long red forelock out of his eyes and reaching with his other hand to stroke down the horse’s neck. Even in the twilight of his life, Alderaan was an imposing presence, tall and imperious and as commanding of respect as he ever had been. 

_ Yes, but my brother is a horse _ , he used to say -- and oh, how Ben had resented that for so long. It seemed silly, now. Horses don’t hold grudges, after all.

And they were the same age, he and Alderaan, but Alderaan’s life was almost done, and Ben often felt like his hadn’t even properly started yet. Ben scratched a bony shoulder as Alderaan leaned into him, snuffling at his pants in search of treats. Maybe the first thirty years had been Alderaan’s -- maybe the next thirty would be Ben’s. He could hope, anyways.

“He remembers you,” said a soft voice from behind him.

Ben spun around to see Leia leaning on the fence, watching them with an almost wistful expression on her face. For a second he saw the two of them as she must -- two faces she had known as infants, grown and changed past recognition now, but still somehow to her the little boy and the tiny red foal they once had been.

“He… he looks really good for his age,” Ben stammered, unsure of what to say, as Alderaan transitioned into rubbing his face on Ben’s shoulder, leaving a trail of little red hairs. 

“He’ll be thirty in a few weeks,” said Leia matter-of-factly. 

_ So will I _ , Ben thought, but did not say.

“I got your call,” said Leia, maybe unnecessarily.

Ben left Alderaan and ducked back through the fence, leaning on it next to his mother, neither of them looking at the other. Alderaan followed him and stuck his nose into Leia’s hands, still hopeful for treats.

“I found Luke,” Ben said without preamble.

Leia’s hands froze mid-stroke on Alderaan’s white face. “Where?” she gasped, looking up at Ben, truly stunned.

“In the Caribbean,” Ben said. “Like we thought.”

“You  _ saw _ him?” Leia asked.

Ben nodded. “I stayed with him for a while,” he replied, swallowing heavily. “He helped… he helped me get clean.”

Leia was still looking at him, searching his face, her expression unreadable.

“I want…” Ben started again, then stopped. His throat felt uncomfortably tight. “I want more than we’ve had… these last ten years. I can’t change anything I’ve done--” and he had to stop again, to swallow, to regain his composure. “But I’m trying… trying to make amends.”

Leia’s face was unutterably sad. Ben felt emotion bubbling up through his stomach.

“I want to come home,” he forced out before it overwhelmed him.

Leia reached up to cup his face. He had forgotten how tiny she was -- or maybe it was that the last time he’d been so close to her, he hadn’t been so tall himself. 

“Ben,” she whispered. “You already are.”

 

* * *

 

 

Ben and Poe were standing by the rail, watching Kylo Ren gallop -- Ben with his camera trying to explain what he was doing to Poe, who did not care, but who did care about watching the big black colt whose rivalry with BB Eight was sweeping the world of horse racing.

“Are you going to fly him to Louisville?” Poe asked.

Ben smirked and shook his head. “Last time we shipped him by air, he tried to kick the plane to pieces,” he said.

“Oh, I remember reading about that,” Poe said. “They made an emergency landing, right?”

“Yeah,” said Ben ruefully. “In  _ Nevada _ .  Hux and I had to drive all night to go get him. We will be staying securely on the  _ ground _ this time.”

“BB’s never flown,” Poe confided. “I’m worried about finding out her feelings on the matter. She tends to have strong feelings about things.”

The thought occurred to Ben like a bolt of lightning.

“We should ship them together,” he suggested.

Poe looked at him doubtfully.

“Hux and Phasma and I are driving the rig to Kentucky with Kylo Ren and the pony,” Ben explained. “It’s a fifteen-horse van. Hauling four is nothing.”

Poe’s skeptical expression turned contemplative. “I like that idea better than trusting her to some shipping company,” he said slowly. 

Ben nodded. “Van’s top of the line,” he said. “Smoothest ride you can get.” He was liking this idea more and more --  _ not,  _ he told himself, for selfish reasons. But he highly doubted Poe  _ wouldn’t _ be bringing Rey. Not that it was a factor in his decision.

But  _ still _ . 

“The media is going to go nuts over this,” Poe said, chuckling. “I can see the headlines now. ‘Friends or Rivals? Kentucky Derby favorites ship together.’”

Ben smiled and shrugged. “Give them a nice fluff story,” he said. “It’ll make it easier to bear when my colt crushes your filly in the Kentucky Derby.”

“Oh, you think so?” Poe asked, nudging Ben’s shoulder, playfully aggressive. “You think so? Look at the past performances, my friend.”

“Time will tell,” Ben replied confidently. They were silent for a moment.

“Well,” Poe said. “Guess we’re taking a road trip.”

 

* * *

 

 

“We have a plan,” Poe announced grandly.

“What?” asked Rey stubbornly, still refusing to look at Ben.

Poe told her.

“ _ What? _ ”


	27. Chapter 27

Mandalorian chewed absently on Rey’s arm as the farrier hefted one of his large hooves into the air and began to pry the nails from it. Rey let him do it -- it was easier than trying to stop him from chewing on the farrier.

“His heel’s grown out well,” the farrier said conversationally, as he dropped the flat, blunt nails one by one into the dirt. “I won’t need to put the risers back on.” A common issue with horses who spent a lot of time walking on abrasive surfaces, such as sand and gravel, common at the track, is that the back of the hoof is worn down quickly, exposing potentially sensitive areas underneath. A horse’s hoof is made of the same material as fingernails, and they have no feeling in the hard, outer parts of the foot, but underneath is the soft and tender “frog.” A common saying amongst horse-man is “no foot, no horse” -- you built a racehorse from the ground up, and keeping the feet healthy was a huge part of that.

The farrier let the now-unattached horse-shoe drop to the ground, and lifted the newly bare hoof onto a metal pedestal. He took a huge file from his toolbox and began to grind the outer rim of the hoof to trim and shape where the hoof had grown. It was like a very brutal horse pedicure -- not that Rey had ever experienced a human one.

“You want racing plates on him?” the farrier asked.

“Yeah,” said Rey. “He’s in next week.”

The farrier nodded, returning the hoof to the ground and going to his truck to scout for a shoe the correct size.

Finn emerged from a near-by stall he had been cleaning, and stopped to scratch Mandalorian’s neck affectionately. “He’s behaving better than last time,” he observed.

Rey looked silently at the trail of horse slobber down her arm. “Sure,” she said.

“You’re still upset about this travel thing,” Finn said knowingly.

“I just don’t see why I need to go,” Rey replied unhappily. “Poe has a dozen hot-walkers to choose from. Why me?”

“It’s because he trusts you,” Finn said reassuringly. “BB trusts you. We want her to be as comfortable and happy as possible.”

Rey furrowed her brow, saying nothing. It wasn’t that Ben Solo was the one they were travelling with -- well, it wasn’t _only_ that. She’d spent a lot of her life in transit. Now that she was here, now that she was beginning to feel like she had a home at last, the prospect of leaving made her uneasy. Not for any rational reason --  they would be in Kentucky for just two weeks before returning. It was just… every time she left someplace, especially a place she loved like this, she always felt worried that she would never see it again, like she’d never seen that kindly neighbor and his horses again.

She hadn’t even gotten a chance to say goodbye. That still hurt.

 _And_ of course it meant being in close proximity with the person she’d been so studiously avoiding, and doing such a good job of it, too. She was secretly convinced that he was somehow doing all of this on purpose.

“Have you packed?” Poe asked, as the farrier returned with a shoe. He lifted the unshod foot, held up the shoe to it, grunted, and went to the anvil in the back of his truck, striking the metal shoe smartly with a special hammer. It was a very interesting process to watch if you hadn’t seen it before, but Rey had held horses for the farrier so many times she was fairly certain she could have done the whole thing herself.

“No,” said Rey glumly. The farrier brought the reshaped shoe over and tested it on Mandalorian’s hoof. Apparently satisfied, he put six of the flat horseshoe nails into his mouth, settled the hoof between his knees, and began to hammer it in place, driving the nails through the hard outer wall of the hoof.

“You should get started,” Finn admonished her. “We’re leaving the day after tomorrow.”

“It won’t take long,” Rey replied. “I keep most of my stuff in a duffel bag anyways. The horse has more stuff than me,” she continued, gesturing at the open tack trunk next to BB Eight’s stall that was currently crammed with equipment.

The farrier finished hammering the shoe in place and placed Mandalorian’s hoof back on the pedestal, using the file again to shave the tip of the hoof to be level with the shoe. “He’s good to go,” the man said to Rey, who nodded and took the colt back to his stall.

“Stop pouting,” Finn said, following her. “We’re going to _Louisville_ . For the _Kentucky Derby_. It’s exciting.”

“I’m not pouting,” Rey protested. “I just… I don’t want to leave.”

Finn reached out and touched her shoulder. “I know,” he said gently. “But you’ll be with me,” he continued, trying to cheer her up. “And Poe. And Chewbacca and BB. And we’re gonna have fun. You’ll see.”

Rey smiled slightly at him.

“You’ll need to be careful about the kissing, though,” Finn went on, his tone shifting to something both smug and teasing. “There’s going to be a lot of cameras around--”

She swatted his shoulder lightly, laughing.

“Now go pack,” Finn instructed her. “Everything you’ll need for two weeks.”

“Fine,” said Rey, turning to leave.

“Don’t forget clean underwear!” Finn shouted after her, a little more loudly than necessary.

Oh well. At least _he_ thought he was funny.

 

* * *

 

 

“Everything you’ll need for two weeks” turned out to be basically everything Rey owned. Beyond clothes and toiletries, she had almost no personal possessions. She packed a few ragged books she’d picked up from thrift stores when she took the bus into town to buy essentials every couple weeks. She tucked into the bag a shiny aluminum horse-shoe that Amidala had thrown -- really, she should have given it back to the farrier to be replaced on Amidala’s hoof, but she had felt she needed the luck more than the karma. After a long and silent deliberation, she also packed the dress Hux had taken her shopping for, folding it inside the fancy bag she’d stored it in, knowing that Hux would probably have an aneurysm if he saw her do that.

It was the Kentucky Derby -- people dressed up, right? She wondered vaguely if she ought to get a silly hat. No -- it might spook BB Eight.

That was really about it. She was wearing the only pair of shoes she owned, tough steel-toed work boots made of leather that was cracking at the seams. She had a beat-up old camp stove that she cooked on, sometimes, but there was no reason to bring that. She couldn’t think of a way to pack her mural of win pictures without risking damage to them -- safer to leave them here. A sad little plant, barely more than a weed, grew in a cracked pot on the windowsill. She hoped that Jessika would remember to water it.

Rey hefted the duffel bag. It was light, a bit deflated, not near to full. She could carry her whole life across one shoulder -- and there was something comforting about that, to think of herself like a snail, as someone who brings their home with them wherever they go. Someone who can never be lost, can never be abandoned -- who has everything they need contained within themselves. She looked around at the small, bare room, trying to reassure herself it would be here when she got back.

It would be, right? And she _would_ come back. Nothing could take this place away from her. She was an adult now -- she was in control of her own destiny. Nobody was coming in the night to take her away without a word of warning. Nobody could stop her from coming back to where she had finally found the belonging she’d always craved. Rey pressed down the rising anxiety, took a deep breath, and sat on her narrow mattress, bouncing a little bit with nervous energy.  

She would be back. She just had to learn to believe that.

 

* * *

 

 

“It’s a twelve hour drive with no stops and no traffic,” Ben was saying. He and Poe had called an organizational meeting in the tackroom the day before they were scheduled to leave. The crew was all here: Finn willingly, Hux unamusedly, Rey sullenly, and Phasma only via the bribe of coffee. “With the rig and stopping to water the horses, it’s easily fifteen.”

“I’m not driving fifteen hours straight,” Hux said. “And I’m the only one licensed to drive the van.”

“No,” said Poe. “That would be too hard on the horses anyway. I found a training farm in Tennessee with a quarantine facility. We’ll stop over there.”

Ben spread a map on the desk. A route was highlighted over the mountains in a cheery yellow color. Rey examined it disinterestedly. It looked like a bloody long way.

“We’re going to caravan,” Ben continued. “My truck, Poe’s car, and the van. We’ll switch out drivers when we stop to water the horses."

“Sounds like a plan,” said Finn. “I’ll finish packing our gear in the van tonight. I assume you want an early start?”

“By six, ideally,” Poe confirmed.

Finn laughed. “That’s not early,” he said. “That’s practically mid-morning.”

Poe smiled. “Regardless,” he said. “We need to be out of here by then.”

“Okay,” said Ben without looking up from the map. “It’s a plan.”

Rey nodded silently, turning to leave.

And Poe caught the glances neither intended the other to see: the way Rey had looked up at Ben almost questioningly as he examined the map, quickly directing her gaze elsewhere when he looked up; the way Ben’s eyes followed Rey carefully as she walked out the tack-room door, something slightly puzzled, slightly wounded in his gaze.

Poe was not a stupid man.

He knew what he had to do.


	28. Chapter 28

Leia came to see them off, and she slipped a large, flat package, wrapped in tissue paper, into Rey’s hands. Rey looked at the older woman quizzically, then unwrapped the package to reveal a magnetic version of the Resistance Racing logo in burnt orange and white. She laughed. 

“I can’t have my BB travelling in  _ that _ ,” Leia said with mock horror, motioning to the huge black horse-van with the First Order Stud regalia on it in blood red. “But be sneaky about it,” she cautioned Rey. 

“I will,” said Rey, smiling.

“Travel safe,” Leia continued in a motherly tone. “I know you’ll take the best care of BB Eight, but take care of yourself too, okay?”

Rey nodded. “See you in Louisville, Leia,” she said.

“See you there, kiddo.”

When nobody was looking, she did exactly as Leia instructed -- she smoothed the magnetic image onto the side of the van right next to the red logo. The colors of the First Order Stud and Resistance Racing insignia clashed a bit, but at least BB Eight would be travelling in style.

* * *

 

Poe was obviously frazzled, rushing around trying to coordinate loading the van and giving orders to his other employees, who would be remaining behind with the rest of the horses. “Hay nets,” he said to Rey as he rushed past, too busy to bother with completing the sentence. She understood what he meant, however, and fetched a few new plastic nets from the tack-room to fill with alfalfa.

It was basically impossible to stuff a hay net by yourself; the noose on top couldn’t be held open with only one hand, and since you needed the other hand to hold the hay, it would keep slipping shut despite your best efforts. Rey struggled with it for a few moments, before another pair of hands reached out to hold the damn thing open. She looked up into the face of Ben Solo.

“Thanks,” she muttered, stuffing the hay net efficiently before yanking it shut and grabbing a second one, which he took and held open for her obediently.

“If I look busy,” he said quietly, “Hux will stop talking my ear off about traffic. He’s got some kind of app on his phone that he’s freaking out over. I think he’s planned at least four alternate routes.”

Rey smiled slightly. “It’s a good day for shipping,” she said hesitantly. “It’s cool enough that we don’t have to worry about the horses getting hot in the van.”

Ben smiled back, a bit smugly. “Well, it is air-conditioned,” he said.

“It’s fucking  _ air-conditioned _ ?” Rey asked with indignant surprise. “Damn thing’s fancier than my room.”

Ben shrugged, still smiling. “It’s got cameras, too,” he continued blithely. “There’re displays in the cab so the driver can keep an eye on the horses.”

Rey smirked at him. “I’ll go hang these,” she said. She slung the full hay nets over her shoulder, ignoring the fact that she was getting covered in hay particles -- after all, she’d been covered in far worse -- and walked back to the van.

Hux was staring at the newly installed Resistance Racing logo on the side of the van with confused distaste. “Who did that?” he asked Rey, puzzled.

Rey shrugged. “No idea,” she said. “Looks permanent though, I wouldn’t try to take it off. Might damage the paint.”

Hux scowled.

“Where do you want the hay nets?” she asked innocently.

* * *

 

Finn and Phasma were inside the van, rearranging the various panels and dividers. The maximum capacity was fifteen horses, but the labyrinthine system of adjustable metal barriers allowed the interior to be changed to accommodate any number and arrangement of animals. They were vigorously debating the pros and cons of various trailer features.

“Step-up is far superior to a ramp,” Finn was saying. “It’s much more natural for the horse.”

“You’ll think that,” Phasma replied. “Until you have one fall down the step and cut their nose open on the ground.” 

“Where do I put these?” Rey asked, interrupting. “Where’s BB Eight going?”

“There,” said Finn and Phasma simultaneously, pointing in opposite directions before glaring at each other.

“I’ll let you guys figure it out,” said Rey, leaving the hay nets. 

She exited down the ramp, only to be thrown four pairs of padded shipping boots which she just barely caught. They would keep the horses from banging their legs on anything metal in the trailer and potentially scraping themselves up.

“Let’s get ‘em loaded,” Poe said jovially. “Finn,” he called into the trailer. “Stop arguing and come get a horse.”

Finn came guiltily down the ramp. “Slant-load is  _ still  _ the better choice,” he said over his shoulder to Phasma, who scoffed loudly.

BB Eight did  _ not  _ appreciate the tall shipping boots velcroed around her legs, and walked awkwardly once Rey put them on, shaking her feet with each step as if she was trying to kick them off. She looked ridiculous, and Rey laughed. Chewbacca took the boots a little more philosophically. Kylo Ren’s groom Mitaka brought him out while he vigorously attempted to bite at his own boots -- but at least he wasn’t biting at people. It was an improvement. 

Finn and Phasma must have finally agreed on an arrangement, because as Rey lead Chewbacca up the ramp Phasma waved her in a stall and Finn did not protest the location. They installed Chewbacca and BB Eight in adjacent stalls, their halters tied to the walls to restrict their movement, but with enough leeway so that the two could bump noses. Ewok, the First Order’s stable pony, a brilliantly marked Appaloosa gelding, loaded obediently into the stall across the way from where Chewbacca and BB Eight were. He stretched out his neck to sniff with interest at his trailer-mates.

Kylo Ren threw a fit the entire way up the ramp, crow-hopping and kicking out in protest of this unspeakable indignity, but Mitaka got him inside in the end. The baby-faced groom was well-used to Kylo Ren’s particular brand of antics. Nothing would phase him now. He had that quality most admirable in a horseman: the startle response of a stone. Kylo Ren snorted angrily at the Resistance horses and tried to take a bite out of Ewok, who dodged it with an ease born of long practice.

Finn and Rey lifted the ramp and bolted it in place.

“Ready?” asked Poe. Rey nodded.

“Who’s riding with me?” Ben asked as he finished packing his bags into the truck. Rey felt a sudden sense of panic. She grabbed Finn’s arm. 

“I’m riding with you, right?” she asked him frantically. 

Poe considered the question. “Eeny, meeny, miny,” he said, counting off his employees. “Rey, it’s you,” he finished quickly.

Rey glared at him. “You didn’t even  _ pretend  _ to finish the rhyme,” she muttered as she stalked away. Poe shrugged exaggeratedly, as if suggesting the matter was entirely out of his hands. 

Ben was already reaching for her bag, but Rey kept a death grip on it. “I’ve got it,” she growled.

Ben frowned at her. “Is that all you have?” he asked.

Rey nodded, tossing her bag carelessly into the backseat of the truck.

“The  _ horse  _ has more clothes than you,” Ben said. “And she spends most of her time in the nude.”

“Maybe that’s my plan,” Rey replied sarcastically as she climbed into the passenger’s seat. 

Finn shot her a sympathetic look as he walked over to Poe’s car. She glared back. He was in on this -- she knew it. She’d find a way to exact her revenge.

Hux, Phasma, and Mitaka piled into the cab of the horse-van --

And they were off.

 

* * *

 

Rey’s strategy for today was to be as quiet as possible, and hope for better luck tomorrow. Initially Ben seemed to agree. They did not speak except for Ben to ask about an upcoming turn, and Rey to reply after a consult with the GPS. Gradually, the silence and the monotony of the highway started to get to her -- she was wishing her bag wasn’t buried in the backseat of the cab out of reach. There was nothing to watch except for the back of the van, or the endless pine forests streaking past. She fiddled with the radio for a while, but could find little beyond ads and static. Ben just ignored her and drove.

Finally she was too bored to care about her strategy.

“What do you think they’re talking about?” Rey mused, staring at the back of the horse-van contemplatively.

“Who?” Ben seemed startled out of some private reverie.

“The  _ horses _ ,” Rey clarified, as if it were obvious.

“Horses don’t talk,” Ben said shortly, looking straight ahead.

“No shit, Sherlock. I mean if they  _ could. _ ”

“I doubt they’d talk about much beyond grass,” Ben replied slowly.

“Kylo Ren is probably bragging,” Rey said thoughtfully. 

“You think Kylo Ren is the one bragging?” Ben asked with playful disbelief. “No way. BB Eight won’t shut  _ up _ about her victory. She’s rubbing his face in it. He’ll be psychologically destroyed by the time I get him off the truck.”

“BB Eight would never,” Rey replied indignantly. “Kylo Ren is the one who’s screwy in the head.” There was detectable edge to her voice.

“I don’t know if BB Eight is as perfect as she thinks she is,” Ben shot back.

“Look at me,” said Rey sarcastically, waving her hands. “I’m Kylo Ren. I’m dark and complicated.”

“Well, I’m BB Eight,” Ben retorted. “I’m a beam of fucking sunlight and I don’t need anybody.”

Rey glared. “I throw tantrums when I don’t get my way,” she added, not to be outdone.

Ben gripped the steering wheel hard in irritation. “I’m terrified of emotional intimacy,” he continued defiantly.

“I hide when I see my mother.” She was perfectly willing to fight fire with fire.

“My response to problems is to run away,” Ben said. “I replace the emptiness in my life with work.”

Rey was livid. “I enjoy  _ biting  _ people,” she said darkly.

Ben took his eyes off the road for a moment to glance at her with confusion. “I don’t bite people,” he said, annoyed.

Rey rolled her eyes. “Obviously I’m talking about the  _ horse _ , Ben,” she said.

“Sure.”

They went back to the silence after that. 


	29. Chapter 29

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the lovely comments! It means so much to hear nice things :) I'm so glad people are enjoying this story.

The terrain slowly became hilly, and then gradually mountainous. The Smoky Mountains loomed before them, the misty clouds for which they were named haloing their peaks, all verdant spring-time green contrasted with deep emerald of the pine trees. The dogwoods were in full bloom, sprays of white and pink mixed in with the colors of the tender new leaves.  

Rey was just glad there was something to look out the window at.

When the van pulled into a gas station for a scheduled break, Rey practically vaulted out of the truck. She had an excuse, at least -- the horses needed to be watered. Or at least, they needed to  _ offered _ water, so that they could refuse as the old proverb tells us they will. She wrestled with a large white plastic bucket, prying the lid off and lugging it up the ramp Finn had so thoughtfully extended for her. 

“How’s it going?” he asked quietly as she hefted the water bucket in front of each horse in turn. All were uninterested except for Ewok, who plunged his head into the bucket, sucked up a liter of water, and spat it all out on Rey’s boots.  _ Horses. _

“We haven’t killed each other yet,” Rey reported acidly, inspecting the horses carefully. They seemed calm and comfortable, not sweaty, not fractious. She filled the deflated hay nets, giving Kylo Ren and his teeth a wide berth.

“It’s a start?” said Finn doubtfully.

Rey smirked at him. “How’s Poe?” she asked.

Finn sighed heavily. “He sings along to every song that comes on the radio,” he replied. “Even when he doesn’t know the words. Also, I’m  _ pretty  _ sure he’s completely tone-deaf.”

“Trade you?” Rey asked immediately. 

“Nice try,” said Finn.

Horses taken care of, Rey returned to the black truck to find Ben sitting smugly in the passenger’s seat. She stared at him. He stared back impudently.

“I don’t know how to drive stick,” she explained to him through the open window.

He shrugged. “Guess you’re learning,” he drawled nonchalantly.

She was going to strangle him.

Grumbling expletives, she climbed up into the driver’s seat of the truck. The seat was adjusted to Ben’s massive frame, and she couldn’t even see over the top of the steering wheel like that. She fiddled with the seat controls until she could reach both the pedals and the wheel. Ben watched her with the ghost of a smile on his face.

Poe’s car and the van pulled out of the parking lot, leaving them behind. Rey shot Ben a panicked look. “It’s fine,” he said reassuringly. “We’re going to the same place. We’ll catch up.”

Under Rey’s inexperienced hands, the truck lurched and shuddered out of the gas station parking lot. “Don’t break my truck, Oxford,” Ben growled after a particularly bad jolt.

“I  _ know _ you know my name,” Rey replied, exasperated. The truck promptly stalled as soon as she removed her full attention from it. “Shit,” she swore.

“You’re getting it,” said Ben encouragingly. 

She was going to  _ strangle  _ him.

He was right, though -- she  _ was  _ getting it. The ride had become noticeably smoother and she didn’t feel immediately at risk of the engine stalling out again. Rey guided the truck up another slope, downshifting like Ben had told her, and it felt like the truck had grown wings. She rather  _ liked _ driving this thing, actually, liked the feeling of mass and power. She mentally dared another driver to cut her off -- she was fairly certain she could run over a smaller car and barely even notice.

Ben was apparently satisfied with her progress, because he put the GPS in its display brace on the dashboard, flopped back in his seat, and promptly fell asleep.

_ Fucking jerk _ . At least it ensured he’d be quiet.

They were well behind the rest of the caravan, because even though Rey was driving decently fast they did not seem to be catching up. But they were going to the same place -- it would be okay. She just had to follow the GPS. 

And she did just that -- up and down hills, winding around mountains, through a tunnel at one point (which was terrifying), up into the misty clouds and back down through them again. Until --

“Turn left,” said the GPS in garbled English.

“Um,” said Rey, taking her foot off the gas to let the truck coast.

“Turn left,” the GPS repeated. Rey braked. The road was deserted -- she checked the rearview mirror to confirm there was nobody behind her. The truck rolled to a stop.

“Ben,” said Rey. He didn’t move. She reached out to poke his arm. “Ben!”

“What?” he grumbled, stirring from sleep.

“The GPS wants me to turn left.”

“Then do it,” he said sleepily.

“Why don’t you open your eyes and decide if you  _ really  _ want me to do that,” Rey suggested.

He did. “Shit,” he said. 

To their left was a battered metal barrier, a few yards of sparse grass, and a sheer cliff face that dropped several hundred feet straight down.

“Keep driving,” said Ben, fumbling his map out of the center console. “We need a crossroad.” Rey obeyed reluctantly, vaguely remembering some advice she’d once been given about staying put when you got lost.

“No bars on my phone,” Ben reported distractedly.

“Check mine,” said Rey. He reached for where it lay on the dashboard and shook his head. 

“Nope.”

He went back to the paper map, scanning it intently. “I followed the GPS,” Rey said, pre-emptively defensive. 

“It’s not your fault,” Ben said, not taking his eyes off the map. “The mountains can really screw with the signal. The elevation makes it hard to triangulate. Do you see a crossroad?”

“When possible, make a legal U-turn,” the GPS chirped. Ben turned it off.

“No,” said Rey. “Wait -- here’s one.” She squinted at the road sign as they passed. “Mountain,” she said with disbelief. “It’s Mountain Road. I bet there’s only one of  _ those _ on the map.”

“Not helpful,” Ben said, rather unnecessarily. “Oh -- pull over. Pull over here.” He gestured to the next sign, which read “Scenic Overlook.” Rey pulled into the small parking lot which overlooked the cliff the GPS had been so eager for them to drive off. She put the truck in park and slumped into her seat.

“We’re gonna die out here,” she said.

“We’re not going to die out here,” Ben disagreed. He clambered out of the truck.

“Where are you going?” Rey demanded, but he ignored her. She followed him over to the cobblestone wall that had been built above the cliff’s edge. He climbed up to stand on top of it, holding his phone above his head and staring up at it.

“If you fall off that cliff, I’m  _ not  _ going looking for you,” Rey warned him ominously.

“Hush,” he said. “I’ve got a bar.”

“You do?” she asked, climbing up next to him quickly. He dialed a number and put the phone to his ear.

“Poe?” he said. Rey tugged on his arm, trying to listen in. He bent down to let her press her ear against the other side of the phone.

“Yeah, we got a bit lost,” Ben said. “It’s fine. We’ll figure it out. Don’t wait for us.”

“No!” said Rey urgently. “Wait for us, Poe! Save us!”

Ben frowned at her as he hung up. “It’s fine,” he repeated, settling down to sit cross-legged on the wall. He spread the map out next to him and opened a GPS app on his phone for comparison.

Rey sat down tentatively next to him. “See?” he said, pointing at the route highlighted in yellow. “We took a wrong turn getting off I-40. The GPS gets confused when you have two roads close to each other with different elevations. It think we’re down here.” He pointed at a spot on the correct route. “But really we’re here. We can get back on track if we just…” He trailed off, taking a pen from his pocket to trace a corrected path, deep in thought.

Rey didn’t respond. She was staring straight ahead at the scene this overlook was meant to showcase.

“Oxford?” he asked quizzically when she said nothing.

“Ben,  _ look _ ,” she said.

He did. “Oh, wow,” he said softly.

The valley that opened up below them was bathed in golden sunbeams breaking through the clouds above, like gentle spotlights from a brighter realm. The trees were thick and tall, and cascaded down the steep hill, across the little valley, and up the mountain on the other side. The verdant foliage swayed gently in the breeze, the sheer mass of plant life almost overwhelming. There was a small town nestled at the base of the mountain, the houses looking like a child’s scattered  toys from this height. It was unutterably peaceful.

“I’ve never really been to the mountains before,” Rey said wonderingly. “It’s beautiful.”

Ben thought the same, though he wasn’t looking at the mountains when  _ he  _ thought it.

“Why did you run away?” he asked suddenly, surprising even himself.

Rey stared at him, horrified and frozen, the peace of the moment shattered.

“I mean, you didn’t seem adverse to it while you were kissing me,” Ben went on.

Rey didn’t think her face had ever been so red. She wanted to dissolve.

“And then you just bolted like I turned into some kind of monster.” There was real  _ hurt  _ in his voice. Rey felt a stab of guilt.

“Why?” Ben asked imploringly.

“Because I don’t know anything about you,” Rey spluttered. 

Ben looked at her for a long moment, studying her face intently. He nodded slowly, and then folded up his map and dismounted from the wall. Without saying a word he held out his hand to help her down -- Rey took it. He got back into the truck, still silent. Rey climbed nervously into the driver’s seat again.

It was a much smoother trip back onto the road this time. She was getting the hang of it.

“I was born on Derby morning, 1986,” Ben said suddenly.

“What?” Rey asked in confusion.

“Probably would have been born at Churchill Downs if Leia had a runner that year, but luckily she did not,” Ben continued, unperturbed. 

“Ben--” said Rey.

“The only story Leia likes to tell about my birth is about the nurse who wouldn’t let her put the race on the TV,” Ben went on. “In the end I believe violence was threatened, and the Derby was broadcast in the hospital room after all. I started crying when Ferdinand won, and Leia agreed -- she was a Broad Brush fan.” Ben shrugged. “So I guess I had horse-sense from birth.”

“Why are you telling me this?” Rey asked when she could get a word in edgewise.

“You said you didn’t know anything about me,” Ben replied smoothly. “There’s only one way to remedy that.”

Rey stared straight ahead, saying nothing.

“My favorite color is orange,” Ben went on. “Which is unfortunate, because whose favorite color is orange?” He shook his head. “And I can’t even wear it because I look terrible in it--”

Stars. It was going to be a long drive.


	30. Chapter 30

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd like to dedicate this chapter to my best buddy Pickles who turned 15 years old yesterday. He's about the farthest thing from a Thoroughbred but he is the coolest horse I've ever had the pleasure of owning. Here's to 15 more, big guy!

Rey and Ben made good time once they got back on track, and pulled into the training farm only a few minutes behind the horse-van. The facility was nestled in a hollow, surrounded by steep green slopes. Horses grazed in lush pastures, and a small training track was hewn into the terrain. It was a story-book sort of farm. Rey and Ben bumped and jostled down the gravel road towards a small, solitary barn where their precious cargo would spend the night.

Rey had asked what she thought was a very innocent question: what did Ben’s company actually _do_? She was no closer to understanding, and he had been talking about it for -- she’d been timing him -- forty seven minutes. Regardless of the nebulous buzzwords and technical jargon he was spouting, she was finding his deep, rumbling voice incredibly soothing. She kind of wanted to record him and play it back like a white noise machine while she was trying to fall asleep.

Rey parked the truck next to the horse-van, right as Ben was wrapping up his lengthy explanation, looking at her expectantly. She struggled with what to say. “That was really interesting” or “I’m so glad I asked” seemed unbearably sarcastic. Instead she went with “Good talk.”

 _Good talk?_ What the hell kind of an answer was that? Rey shook herself mentally. She had horses to take care of.

Finn had BB Eight halfway down the ramp by the time Rey climbed out of the truck. “You made it!” he said happily. “We were worried you’d been eaten by mountain people.”

“Nah, we managed to outrun them,” Rey assured him.

“Grab Chewie,” Finn said. “We thought we’d turn them out for a bit to let them stretch their legs.”

The quarantine facility was a neat six-stall barn with two small adjoining paddocks. It was set a fair distance from the other pastures and barns, to ensure separation between the residents of the farm and travelling horses -- the animals involved were far too valuable to risk the passing of disease. The owners had come down from their house on the hill to show their visitors around. They were a kindly older couple who were absolutely tickled pink to be housing the Kentucky Derby favorites. Poe was busy charming the pants off them as was his usual tactic.

Rey hooked her lead line to Chewbacca’s halter, and led him down the ramp. He moved slowly, obviously stiff and sore from the journey. Shipping was hard on horses -- there was a reason they were doing the trip in two stages, when it would have been easy to just drive straight through. He began to limber up, however, with the movement, and went happily through the paddock gate, practically nose-diving into the grass.

Mitaka had Kylo Ren out of the trailer, and the colt was stamping with excitement, trumpeting a challenge to this new realm. “Hush,” Mitaka said to him sensibly. “You’ll go out in a little while.”  As usual anything sensible was lost on Kylo Ren, who practically tap-danced into the barn.

Finn turned BB Eight out in the paddock next door to Chewbacca’s, and she immediately took a roll in the lush grass, grunting with pleasure as her hooves waved in the air, looking as ridiculous as it is possible for a horse to look. Rey and Finn watched her fondly, even though both knew it would fall to them to clean all the dirt off her when she was finished.

Across the gravel road, a few broodmares were grazing peacefully, their foals frolicking around them in the cool evening air. Rey and Finn looked at them, then at each other, identical grins blooming on their faces.

They were over there in a flash, unable to resist. The mares ignored them, not really caring about the visitors, but the foals being curious creatures crept close, only to snort and run away bucking before returning again. Eventually, however, curiosity got the better of them and they pressed against the fence, sniffing and nuzzling at Finn and Rey.

Baby horses, called foals, are amongst the most ungainly and adorable children of the animal world. They are born weighing as much as the average adult human, and are standing and running around within an hour of birth. Their legs look ridiculously long, and they wobble on them, often losing balance and tumbling into the grass. This doesn’t slow them down at all -- they race around their mothers, kicking and bucking and squealing and generally being a nuisance before collapsing with exhaustion into the hay, sleeping blissfully stretched out on their sides. Their foal coats are shaggy and soft, and they are born with whiskers to rival a goat’s. They are silly and ridiculous and full of joy as they discover their new world.

Rey giggled as a little chestnut nibbled at her fingers, his whiskers tickling her hand. Like all babies, foals explored the world with their mouths. Finn had found just the right spot to scratch on a black colt’s withers, and the little fellow leaned into his touch appreciatively.

“Their hooves are so tiny,” Rey said wonderingly. “And their little noses!” The chestnut nipped at her wrist and she dodged his small teeth, rubbing his forehead, boldly marked with a white star, instead.

“I want babies someday,” Finn sighed wistfully.

“Me too,” Rey agreed. “At _least_ five.”

“Our babies can play together,” Finn said excitedly.

“My babies will beat your babies,” Rey said without hesitation.

Finn frowned. “We are still talking about horse babies, right?”

“Of course,” Rey confirmed. “They _are_ the cutest kind.”

“Making friends?” Poe asked as he came over to lean on the fence, smiling indulgently at the frisking foals. You couldn’t help it.

“Can we keep them?” Finn inquired immediately.

“We’ll feed them and clean up after them and take care of them,” Rey promised. “You won’t even know they’re there.”

“It’ll teach us about responsibility,” Finn added, mock seriously.

Poe sighed. “Ask your mother.”

* * *

 

BB Eight and Chewbacca were bedded down in their stalls with dinner, and Kylo Ren took his turn in the paddock, kicking and rearing and whinnying and showing his teeth to Ewok, who ignored him in favor of fresh grass. Eventually Mitaka put him back in his stall, and Hux checked his legs carefully while the colt inhaled his grain.

Rey stood in the aisle, looking at the happy, fed horses and wondering just how many millions of dollars worth of horseflesh was standing in this barn.

There wasn’t much in terms of restaurants nearby, but they did end up finding a small pizza place down the road which served up an excellent pie. Then there was nothing to do but find the run-down motel which had been their only option for accommodations. Rey and Finn played rock-paper-scissors for who would have to sleep on the pull-out couch and who would get the twin bed across from Poe -- Rey lost. She took it philosophically. She’d slept in worse places.

* * *

 

Rey awoke in the darkness and checked her phone. 4AM. Her body refused to accept that she didn’t need to get up -- she was wide awake, and Finn was snoring. Loudly. She sighed, and then got out of bed and dressed quickly. Maybe there would be coffee in the lobby. She needed it -- it had taken her a while to fall asleep, the unfamiliarity of the room contributing as much to her insomnia as Finn’s snoring.

She was surprised to find Ben sitting on a couch down in the lobby, watching the news on a flickering television while sipping coffee from a Styrofoam cup. “Still on track time?” she asked as she sat down next to him. The couch was plaid, ancient and threadbare -- she sank a considerable distance into it.

“Old habits die hard,” he sighed. “I did convince them to put the coffee out early just for us,” he added.

“Bless you,” said Rey. “Anything interesting?” she asked, looking at the TV.

Ben shook his head. “Oh, they’re about to do the weather again,” he said with fake enthusiasm. “Partly cloudy and high of 65.”

Rey frowned at him. “Spoilers,” she said accusingly.

Ben shrugged. “You should get some more sleep,” he suggested. “It’s going to be a long day.”

“Finn is snoring like a freight train,” Rey explained. “It’s not happening.” She yawned, so widely it was painful.

They sat and watched the local news for a few minutes, lines of static dancing across the ancient television to obscure the reporters’ faces. Rey yawned again. Sitting still was not helping her stay awake.

Ben looked at her for a moment, then reached out and wrapped an arm around her waist, pulling her closer to him so that her head was against his shoulder. “Go to sleep,” he ordered gently.

“No,” said Rey for the sake of being contrary, trying to squirm away from him.

“You’re going to crack your jaw yawning,” Ben said. “Plus I’m not getting in a car with a sleepy driver. You’ll kill us both.”

Rey stopped wriggling and sighed. He was warm, and the couch was soft, and her eyes felt like they had sand in them she was so tired. Ben patted her head like she was a dog and she frowned into his shirt.

“Fine,” she said. “Talk about the company again,” she added, leaning into him and resting her head on his chest.

“I already told you about that,” Ben said, surprised, and it was even _better_ to be able to feel his voice rumbling underneath her ear, a pleasant, deep vibration against her skull.

“I didn’t understand,” she said stubbornly, struggling to suppress another yawn. “Do it again.”

“Okay,” said Ben, sounding a bit confused, clearing his throat. “One of the many challenges facing industry today is the organization and analysis of high-dimensional data--”

Rey smiled. She was already half-asleep.


	31. Chapter 31

Ben felt almost reluctant to leave Jakku Downs. It was an unfamiliar feeling for him -- usually he left places in a whirlwind, glad to abandon his past bad decisions, happy for a change in scenery that never changed anything in him, though he never gave up the delusion that it would,  _ this _ time.

But that was the thing about  _ home _ \-- it would always be waiting for you when you came back. He was beginning to understand that, now. Maybe he was even beginning to believe it.

There was a vast weight that had lifted off him now, a burden he hadn’t even realized he’d been carrying: the knowledge that  _ someday _ he would have to face the denizens of his past, would have to experience the confrontation with Poe and Leia and all the others. The other option was to never see any of them ever again -- and he still wasn’t sure which one would hurt more. 

He thought back to how it had felt to arrive at Jakku Downs for the first time in fifteen years, how he had compared it in his mind to an abscess being drained, a sudden sharp pain mixed with sweet relief. He felt the same now -- the infection had been breached, and it had hurt far, far more than the dull throb it had been for nearly a decade, and the wound wasn’t close to healing, red and raw and painful -- but now it would have a  _ chance  _ at healing. Now the process of repair could begin. There would always be a scar -- there would always be scars -- but someday he would be well again. Someday the pain would only be a memory.

And now Poe had decided that they were friends again, with that headstrong, cheery determination with which he approached everything in life, and Leia didn’t hate him, hadn’t ever hated him despite what he had believed. And he saw now that he hadn’t ever hated her either. It was far easier to convince himself that he did than to admit that he’d had his own part in the pain, in the distance that had grown between them. Because Leia  _ loved  _ him, and he loved her, and she hadn’t been a great mother and he hadn’t been a great son, but maybe it was possible for both of them to put that guilt in the past, to move forwards and rediscover each other, as human beings, as friends, as  _ family _ . 

It was easier to hate than it was to love and forgive. It was easier than admitting that love hadn’t been enough, despite what fairy-tales might tell us. But nothing good in life is ever  _ easy _ .

Ben packed unhappily, lost in thought. The delicate balance he had managed to precariously construct seemed jeopardized. Just when he was beginning to feel comfortable here -- he and Poe settling into a familiar rhythm, he and his mother making peace, whatever the hell it was he had with Rey fizzling out -- and he was almost glad of it, he told himself: one less thing to worry about, one less impossible relationship he had to juggle. It was for the best. Maybe eventually he’d believe that. 

He sure didn’t right now.

* * *

 

He saw her struggling with the hay nets, on the morning of their departure, and moved immediately to help -- he didn’t really know why he did it, but  _ anything  _ was better than the ongoing frigidity between them. He wanted her to yell at him -- he wanted her to kiss him -- he wanted her to slap him -- anything but continuing to ignore him. But she didn’t do any of that, of course. She only talked to him, a bit nervous, a bit guarded, not unlike she’d talked to him the first day they had ever met, when she had been scared of him, of what he represented. 

And maybe that was the best he was going to get -- a formal, distant relationship, the sort of relationship an owner  _ ought  _ to have with a hot-walker, who could discuss horses and the weather and little else, let alone anything personal.

It wasn’t what he wanted; and he had never been one for doing what he  _ ought  _ to do. It was entirely foreign to him to  _ not  _ pursue something he wanted. He set his jaw in a firm line. She was better than that. She was  _ too special _ for that. If owner and hot-walker was all they would ever be to each other -- then that was that. He could accept it.

He didn’t like it, but he could accept it.

* * *

 

When he’d asked “Who’s riding with me?” he hadn’t really expected an  _ answer _ . He expected Phasma to make a joke, maybe Poe to suggest that Ewok could be his driving buddy. He certainly hadn’t expected Rey to stomp over and hop up in his truck like she belonged there, even if she wasn’t happy about it. He was stunned, to put it shortly.

Rey travelled light -- and he wondered what that was like. Rey was a person who had nothing and had fought fiercely for every scrap of it. He’d never in his life been a person who had nothing. He had everything, and it had all come so easily, except for the one thing he really wanted. 

They drove in stony silence, except for when they had a fight about the innermost thoughts of their horses, which wasn’t even the silliest thing Ben had ever had a fight over. And even then he had to nudge her into it, to harangue her into getting irritated with him, because the other option was that she ignored him, and he couldn’t take that anymore. It was better to be hated than to be ignored. Ben  _ hated _ to be ignored.

* * *

 

And he couldn’t stop it when it came tumbling out, sitting lost on a cobblestone wall on top of a mountain, looking out over the world below, like eagles, like kings. The question that had been haunting him, tearing at his thoughts even when he tried to put it out of his mind, insistent and painful and unanswered:  _ Why did you run away? _

She didn’t say,  _ because I hate you _ . She didn’t say,  _ because you’re weird and you suck _ . She didn’t say,  _ because you are a bad person and I don’t know how anybody puts up with you. _

She said,  _ because I don’t know you _ .

And it dawned on him: that was a problem that had a solution.

_ That  _ was something that he could fix.

And he decided, as they sat there on the wall in the following awkward silence, that he would fix it.

He told her silly things, serious things, stories that felt so far removed from him he might have thought they happened to a different person. He told her things he’d never told anyone. He told her things even he wasn’t sure about until they came spilling out. He told her who he was and where he’d been. He didn’t tell her where he was going -- he didn’t know that yet. He was kind of hoping they could figure that out together.

The one thing he didn’t tell her was a lie. He could lie to himself -- and who was he kidding, he was a master at it -- but he couldn’t bring himself to lie to her.

At first he felt her shock at his torrent of words, which turned quickly to annoyance, which then slowly transformed into actual interest. And she talked back, laughing with him,  _ smiling  _ at him, and he hadn’t thought he’d ever see that smile again, not directed at  _ him _ . 

Maybe it wouldn’t end as he feared -- owner and hot-walker and nothing more. Maybe, if he went slowly and didn’t spook her, they could be friends again. And that would be enough. That would be enough.

* * *

 

He barely slept that night, spending most of it pacing in his hotel room, unable to banish her from his mind, how she had smiled at him in the car, how adorably she had grinned with Finn over the foals at the farm. He  _ wanted  _ her to smile. He didn’t want her to ever stop.

How little it would take to make her happy. Her hopes and dreams were almost as simple as the those of the horses she loved. She wanted food and shelter, a place to call home that would always be there waiting for her. She wanted friends and family, and those she had forged for herself where life had left her unlucky. And she wanted the  _ horses _ \-- it was in her veins the same way it was in Poe. She was destined -- or doomed -- to spend her life outside, filthy and sweaty and  _ joyful _ , because there were some things in life we don’t get to choose, and this was what had chosen her.

And  _ he could give her all of it _ , the only caveat being that it came attached to  _ him _ .

The obvious realization came towards midnight:

He was in love. This was unfortunate.

* * *

 

He gave up on sleep towards 4AM, and went down to the lobby in hopes that there would be coffee and it would be strong. He had to bribe the sleepy young man at the front desk, but it was worth it. 

And of course she appeared almost immediately, looking as tired as he felt.

When he put his arms around her he expected more resistance than he got. She must have really been exhausted, because she rested her head on his chest almost cozily, drifting off to sleep as he talked.

And he sat there with her as close as she had ever been, and he thought -- he  _ let  _ himself think --

_ Maybe. _

And that was where Poe found them when he came downstairs at 6AM in search of breakfast, Rey blissfully asleep on Ben’s shoulder, Ben’s arm around her resting lightly on her hip, patiently watching TV while she snoozed on him. Poe grinned smugly. Ben saw him and glared.

“Shut up,” he said.

Poe had said nothing, but his grin got wider.

“Do you want me to put her in your truck again today?” he asked, sounding as pleased with himself as it was possible to be.

Ben gaped. “You didn’t,” he said disbelievingly. 

Poe shrugged, still looking unbearably smug.

“I don’t need your help, you know,” Ben said, sounding irritated.

“Oh, Ben,” said Poe dramatically. “Yes, you do.”


	32. Chapter 32

Ben woke Rey as gently as possible, and she was surprisingly good-natured about it, or maybe that was just due to the fact that the continental breakfast was out by now, and nothing made her more cheerful than free food. She got inordinately excited over the fact that they had five different types of cereal, and made the dubious choice to mix all of them before drowning them in milk. Ben was skeptical, but she assured him it tasted wonderful.

Finn came downstairs soon after, looking incredibly well-rested and proclaiming how wonderfully he’d slept -- Rey and Poe just glared at him over their coffee. Phasma also emerged, close-cropped blonde hair mussed and tousled.

“Brendon is  _ still  _ in the shower,” she told Ben accusingly, as if he had something to do with it, as she juggled two donuts in one hand and a cup of coffee in the other, flopping down heavily in a chair at the table the group had claimed.

“I told you that you had to get in there before him,” Ben replied. “Once he’s in there, he’s not coming out until he’s good and ready.”

There was an excited clamor from the buffet -- Rey and Finn had discovered that there was a waffle-making machine. From their tones this was the most exciting and improbable invention of the century. Ben wondered whether or not to tell them that there were chocolate chips by the oatmeal. He did, in the end, though he thought he’d probably regret it very soon.

Hux came down eventually, his ginger hair meticulously spiked in his usual neat fashion with Mitaka in tow, already giving orders for the day. Ben looked around now that the whole ragged little gang was assembled. Poe and Phasma were deep in a conversation about the pros and cons of various shoeing options for racehorses. Finn and Rey were apparently having a competition to see who could load the most calories onto a single waffle in the form of sugar. She offered Ben a bite but he politely declined. Hux was even smiling a little as Phasma teased him about his monopolization of the bathroom, and Mitaka for once didn’t look frightened as Rey took him over to show him the magical waffle machine.

It was weird little group of individuals, to be sure -- but it felt right. It felt natural. It felt like the beginning of a whole web of beautiful friendships.

You could probably write a damn sit-com about the bunch and make millions.

* * *

 

The horses were happy to see them -- whether because they wanted breakfast or had actual warm feelings for their caretakers was less clear -- but they were decidedly not happy to get back on the van. Everybody loaded up eventually, however, and the owners of the farm convinced their visitors to pose for a photo on the ramp, their famous charges visible in the background. Ben ended up standing awkwardly next to Rey, who pushed him off the ramp to stand on the flat ground instead. “So it looks like I’m as tall as you,” she said guilelessly.

He got his revenge by giving her bunny ears with his fingers in the photo, though she didn’t notice. She would. He looked forward to it. 

As they prepared to leave, she hopped up into the passenger’s seat of the truck like it was the most natural thing in the world. He looked at her skeptically.

“Is Poe making you do this?” he asked seriously.

“What?” she asked. “No. I mean he did yesterday--”

Ben huffed. 

“But not today,” Rey finished.

“Well, good,” said Ben. Rey smiled. “I didn’t want to have to teach anybody else to drive stick,” Ben continued blithely, looking at her sideways slyly.

Rey frowned. “You better start driving before I change my mind,” she warned him playfully. “Or you’re getting Finn, and  _ he  _ has a lead foot.”

* * *

 

The hours and the miles slid past, filled by mostly idle and occasionally silly conversation, easy and natural. The mountains gave way to rolling hills lush with bluegrass, as they entered the most famous horse country in the world. Rey was transfixed by the beautiful, manicured farms, with white four-board fencing and barns fancier than most houses, where millions of dollars worth of horseflesh grazed and played and shone in the strong April sun.

This was the horse racing capital of the world. The whole town felt like a shrine to the Thoroughbred. Kings and queens and sheikhs and billionaires made pilgrimages here to see the fastest horses on the planet. Where most cities have statues of war heroes mounted on horseback, here the horses were sculpted on their own, proud and fiery and unshadowed by a famous rider. Here the names of greats past and present were household knowledge -- in a world that was rapidly forgetting about the sport of kings,  _ this  _ was a place it would be eternal.

They arrived at Churchill Downs a bit past mid-afternoon. Rey craned her neck to see the famous twin spires that towered above the grandstand, which was so much larger and -- well --  _ grander _ than the one at Jakku Downs. A track employee met them at the horseman’s gate, furnished them with very official-looking ID badges, and escorted them to the stakes barn where the horses would be housed in the days leading up to the Kentucky Derby. They were some of the first shippers to arrive -- the barn was mostly empty, and it was easy to secure four stalls in a row in the back of the barn, farthest from the road, where things would be quieter and less stressful for the horses. 

Rey had thought the media buzz was nuts before the Resurgent. She was wrong. As she emerged from the van leading BB Eight she was nearly blinded by the flashes of digital cameras. Poe was livid, but BB Eight barely blinked, pausing on the ramp to cock her head at what she clearly considered her adoring fans. Kylo Ren came down the ramp with a roar, frightening off the photographers like a dog chasing pigeons. 

Reporters were already mobbing the trainers, asking how the horses had shipped, had they cleaned up their feed that morning, how did they like their chances, etc. Poe and Hux pushed through the crowd, speaking shortly to get the reporters off their backs, and finally made it into the relative safety of the barn with the horses. Ben found they left him alone as long as stayed within the kicking radius of Kylo Ren’s hind legs -- the only drawback was that he had to stay within the kicking radius of Kylo Ren’s hind legs. The colt was tired and sore from the journey, however, and Ben remained unscathed.

The rest of the afternoon was consumed with unpacking and settling the horses into their new surroundings. Finally, the horses were bedded down happily in their new stalls, the gear was unpacked and organized neatly in the empty stall that would serve as an impromptu tack-room, and everybody was thoroughly exhausted, grimy, and road-weary. Leaving the horse-van at the track, they piled into Poe’s car and Ben’s truck and made the short journey to the hotel that would be their home for the next two weeks.

Finn and Mitaka installed in the backseat, Rey and Ben took up their now customary positions in the front of the truck. As Ben parked, Rey stared up at the high-rise hotel, a far cry from their accommodations of the night before. “Poe said he called everywhere in town and couldn’t find available rooms,” she said wonderingly. “We were resigned to sleeping in the horse van. How did you manage to find some?”

Ben looked suddenly sheepish. He ran a hand through his hair nervously, his other hand tightening on the steering wheel for a moment. “Um,” he said. “Well…”

“What?” Rey asked, now suspicious. “What did you do?”

Ben sighed. “I bought the hotel,” he admitted.

Finn melted into peals of laughter in the backseat. “Of  _ course  _ you did,” he said.

* * *

 

Ben went to check in at the front desk like an adult, but Rey was too preoccupied with the fact that  _ there was a fountain in the freaking lobby _ , sculpted of faux stone and covered with fake plants. To her delight, a little stream flowed out of the large fountain, winding around the open space of the lobby. The rooms of the hotel faced inward, and the space in the middle was left open, so that there was nothing overhead but twelve stories of open air topped by distant skylights. Rey ran -- with considerable speed, considering she was weighed down by luggage -- onto the little footbridge that spanned the artificial stream.

“Finn!” she called, looking down into the water. “There’s fish!”

“There’s  _ fish _ ?” he asked in disbelief, running over to join her.

Poe watched them with a wry smile, like an indulgent parent.

“You need to get them off the backside more often,” Ben admonished him as he walked over with the room keys. “They’re like a couple of country mice in the big city.”

“At least they’re easy to keep entertained,” Poe countered.

“Just wait until they find out there’s free snacks over by the bar.”

* * *

 

Rey and Finn entered their suite, still buzzing with excitement over the fact that the elevator they’d ridden up on was made of glass, and found even more things to be intrigued by. “There’s a microwave!” Rey reported as she investigated the kitchenette. 

“And they folded the towels to look like little dogs,” Finn said from the bathroom.

Rey went to see. “I think they’re supposed to be horses,” she said, closely examining the intricately folded towels.

“That makes more sense,” Finn agreed amiably.

“I think we even have  _ cable _ ,” Rey said, going out to inspect the television, which was larger than any television she’d ever seen short of the tote board at the track. She flipped it on, watching with interest as some sort of soccer game appeared on the screen.

“Whoa,” said Finn. “Can we live here now?”

Rey shrugged. “It’d be a long commute back to Jakku Downs,” she mused.

There was a knock on the door. Rey answered it to find Ben standing a bit awkwardly outside.

He cleared his throat. “Can I escort you two to dinner downstairs?” he asked.

“Ah, my good sir,” said Rey, mock formally, in an indistinguishable accent she must have thought was fancy. “Indubitably.”

“Do you even know what that means?” Finn asked, coming to join them in the doorway.

“Yes,” said Rey defensively. “I _ read _ .”

Finn scoffed playfully, pushing past them.

Ben held out his hand to Rey. “My lady?” he asked, imitating her formal tone.

Her answering smile was simply radiant.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just love the idea of Finn and Rey getting excited over the tiniest little things that everybody else takes for granted. Considering their canon upbringings, I feel like this would happen a lot :)


	33. Chapter 33

It turned out that having three people to take care of one horse was a bit excessive. BB Eight was fed, groomed to perfection, tacked, exercised by the jockey who would be riding her in the Kentucky Derby, washed, grazed, and returned to her stall by 8AM, and Finn and Rey found themselves with little to do. Both felt a bit shy about just wandering around the unfamiliar racetrack -- it was different when you didn’t know anybody. Poe had gone off to have a chat with some trainers he knew who were stabled here, and Hux and Phasma had departed a while ago for parts unknown, leaving Mitaka napping in a folding camping chair next to Kylo Ren’s stall, just out of biting range.

“Can you believe we’re really here?” Rey asked a bit wistfully. She was sitting on a hay bale just outside BB Eight’s stall. BB was lazily tugging bits of forage out of her hay net, pausing occasionally to bump Rey’s head companionably with her nose.

“Not really,” Finn replied honestly. He was watching horses coming and going from the track -- morning training was still in full swing -- and pointing out the insignia of famous trainers as they passed by. “That’s another one of Pletcher’s,” he added, pointing to a bay with a distinctive white saddlecloth emblazoned with the letters “TAP” in intricate cursive.

“It still kind of feels like a dream,” Rey said. She sighed. “I miss Amidala.”

“You should call back home,” Finn suggested. “I bet Admiral would put her on the phone for you.”

“She isn’t the greatest conversationalist,” Rey admitted ruefully.

Finn nodded in agreement, and that was when Ben pulled up in his black truck.

“Where have you been?” Rey called as he climbed down from the vehicle.

“Interview,” he said, walking over to where Rey and Finn were lounging by the horses. “ _ The Blood-Horse _ is doing a full spread on BB Eight and Kylo Ren.”

“Really?” Rey asked with excitement.  _ The Blood-Horse _ is the industry bible, a weekly publication detailing the highlights and exploits of the who’s who of racing.

“They want them on the cover,” Ben said happily, looking fondly at Kylo Ren who was stretching his neck as far as he possibly could in hopes of reaching Mitaka for a nibble. “The photographer is coming tomorrow to take pictures.”

“You think BB will still hang out with us when she’s famous?” Rey asked Finn playfully.

“Nah,” he said. “Probably get a rockstar boyfriend and forget about the little people.”

“You wouldn’t,” Rey said to the mare, turning on the haybale to plant a smooch on her white nose. “She wouldn’t,” Rey confirmed for everybody present. 

“You guys got stuff to do?” Ben asked casually.

Rey looked suddenly guilty. “Uh…” she said, exchanging glances with Finn. “Yeah, lots,” she said quickly. “Why?” she added suspiciously.

Ben frowned. “I’m not asking so I can make you do something,” he said reproachfully. “Or tattle on you to Dameron.”

“What, then?” Rey asked curiously.

“You want to go to a museum?” Ben queried, his eyes smiling.

Rey made a face. “What kind of museum?” she asked carefully. “Like with… art?”

“Or history,” Finn said unhappily. “Or bones if they’re not dinosaur bones. Dinosaur bones are OK,” he clarified.

Ben smiled. “How about horses?” he asked.

* * *

 

There is nothing in the world quite like the Kentucky Derby, where history is made in two minutes or less.

It is not the most prestigious race that is run in America, nor does it have the highest purse for the winner. Its restrictions are tight: three-year-olds only, meaning no repeat contenders, run on old-fashioned American dirt, which means few European horses attempt it. It cannot be considered a world championship like the Breeder’s Cup, which runs races for all age groups, distances, and surfaces and attracts the best of the best from all over the planet.

And yet, and yet: it is the Derby that people think of when they think of horse racing. It is the silly hats and mint juleps and blankets of roses and My Old Kentucky Home. The Kentucky Derby occupies a place in the public imagination, made greater than it is by the virtue of being shared amongst so many. It is its own beast, and in that regard it is utterly unique.

Anything that has existed for one hundred and forty one years is going to have some stories to tell -- and the Kentucky Derby Museum at Churchill Downs is where these stories are housed. There are weird stories and sad stories, happy endings and abrupt ones, people and horses long dead but ever strong in memory. And every year, another story joins those already enshrined -- and maybe  _ that  _ is the power of the Kentucky Derby, this vast tapestry of names and personalities, woven into something so stirring and emotional that even the most jaded of horsemen cannot help a sense of wonder.

Rey and Finn wandered from exhibit to exhibit, wide-eyed and fascinated, calling each other over to read the various things they found interesting, Ben following but unable to focus entirely on the exhibits when Rey was there in front of him, smiling and laughing like it was Christmas morning.

The incomparables, the improbables, the impeccably bred and the inconceivable upsets: they were all here, memorialized forever.

There was Chateaugay (1963), who raced with a chicken bone tied to his bridle for luck. Assault (1946), who injured a hoof so badly as a yearling that it was permanently deformed, and who limped everywhere except for when he set foot on a racetrack, where he strutted like a peacock. Iron Liege (1957), who was chosen by a newspaper at birth to follow and document the life and development of a racehorse, and, in one of the more improbable occurrences of modern times, won the Derby three years later. Canonero II (1971), a South American horse who was thoroughly overlooked in the betting, mostly due to the fact that his past performances were in Spanish and nobody could be found to translate them.

There were horses who had shaped the breed, whose blood ran in the veins of today’s and tomorrow’s competitors: Secretariat (1973), whose record as the fastest winner ever will probably never be toppled; Seattle Slew (1977) who was bought for $17,000 as a crooked yearling and went on to win the biggest race in the world; Northern Dancer (1964), who at the height of his stud career stood for over a million dollars a pop; War Admiral (1937), who is today best remembered as Seabiscuit’s nemesis.

In two weeks a new name would be added to his illustrious, immortal list, and Rey thought there was a good chance it would be one she knew.

* * *

 

Rey was leaning over a display case of various Derby artifacts, saddleclothes and halters and thrown horseshoes. Ben came over to stand next to her, curious to see what had so engrossed her.

He pointed to a name, the Kentucky Derby winner of 1985, Spend A Buck. “Leia’s horse Naboo beat him in the Travers that August,” he explained. “It was her first grade one win as an owner.”

“Wow,” said Rey. Then, “Was he trained by Kes Dameron?”

Ben shook his head. “Nah, he was trained by Han Solo. My father,” he added uncomfortably after a moment.

Rey’s expression turned calculating. “You said you were born on Derby morning, 1986,” she said slowly. “That’s in May…”

“Don’t do the math, Rey,” Ben pleaded. “It doesn’t lead anywhere good.”

“You were a Travers baby!” Rey exclaimed happily.

Ben sighed. “I try not to think about it,” he said.

“Where is he, anyways?” Rey asked lightly.

Ben looked at her, alarm written on his face. “Who?” he asked.

“Han,” Rey said. “Your dad.”

Ben shook his head. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “Last I heard he was still training, out on the west coast on the fair circuit.” He paused. “He never really got another contract on the same level as the Organa horses.”

“Why did Leia fire him?” Rey asked. It was hard for her to reconcile the kind -- firm, yes, intense and occasionally terrifying, but kind -- woman she knew firing  _ anybody _ .

Ben looked distinctly uncomfortable. “Well, they were in the middle of a divorce, so it’s not that surprising,” he said.

“Sorry,” said Rey, seeing the old wounds, long since scarred over, surface in his eyes. “I shouldn’t have asked.”

“It’s fine,” Ben said shortly. “It was a long time ago.”

They were quiet for a moment in the somber light of the museum.

“Is he nice?” Rey asked suddenly.

Ben looked startled by the question. “I mean, yeah, I guess,” he said uncertainly. “He was gruff, most of the time. And he had high expectations -- I guess that’s why we clashed a little bit. His vision of who I was supposed to be was different than mine.”

Rey nodded slowly, her expression tinged with sadness.

“Why?” Ben asked gently, noticing her change in mood.

“I just…” Rey began. “I just wonder what it would have been like,” she said. “To grow up here. To have…” She paused, frowning. “ _ Parents _ . Somebody who cared about who I was supposed to be.” She turned away, embarrassed by her vulnerability.

“Hey,” said Ben, catching her elbow. “They’re more trouble than they’re worth,” he joked, trying to lighten her mood.

She looked up at him very seriously, very steadily. “You don’t really believe that,” she said, very deliberately.

Ben sighed, releasing her elbow, expecting her to dart away, but she didn’t.

“No,” he said. “I guess I don’t.”

And to his surprise she hugged him then, wrapping her arms around his waist and burying her face in his chest. “Good,” she said against his shirt, a bit muffled. “Good.”

* * *

  
That night, Ben picked up the phone and made a call he’d been putting off for a long, long time. 


	34. Chapter 34

 

The photographer who came out the next morning was extremely intent on getting both horses and their trainers in the same shot, but the horses vehemently disagreed with this plan. Kylo Ren was in rare form, stamping and snorting and bucking, intent on taking a chunk out of Hux, and Rey had never seen Hux look so unhappy in a situation that didn’t involve Ben Solo. BB Eight was all pricked ears and gentle eyes until she got within range of Kylo Ren, and then her tail would swish and she’d pin her ears with displeasure, clearly disapproving of his behavior and threatening retaliation against him. 

“Can’t you photoshop it?” Poe asked wearily, as he restrained BB Eight from lunging at what she clearly considered her nemesis. 

“One more try,” said the eager photographer for at least the seventh time.

Rey was watching the goings-on with well-hidden amusement as she groomed Chewbacca, working out the knots in his long flaxen tail, humming softly to him as she did so. Chewbacca was also observing the commotion in the yard -- if he had been capable of wryly chuckling, he would have been.

A woman appeared at the entrance of the stall, smartly dressed with a pair of sunglasses that probably cost more than Rey made in a week. “Is Poe Dameron here?” she asked without preamble.

Rey pointed to the scene in the yard. “He’s, uh, having his picture taken,” she explained. “Why?” she asked curiously.

The woman smiled apologetically. “Oh, I’m sorry, How rude of me. I’m Kylie Wilson,” she stated, holding out her hand to shake. Rey felt bad because her hands were absolutely filthy, but she shook anyway and Kylie didn’t seem to care. “I’m a reporter with the  _ Blood-Horse _ . I’m here to interview him for the cover story.”

“Oh,” said Rey. “He should be done soon,” she added.

Kylie was looking at her appraisingly. “You work for him?” she asked.

Rey nodded. “I’m BB Eight’s hot-walker,” she explained. 

“A hot-walker,” Kylie said, still eyeing Rey in a way that made her feel extremely self-conscious. “Would you be willing to talk with me for a bit?” she asked with a friendly tone. “It’s always nice to meet another lady in the business. Makes for great human interest.”

“Uh,” said Rey, feeling a nervous flutter in her stomach. “I guess?”

“Wonderful,” Kylie gushed, and some instinct deep in Rey’s hindbrain said  _ fake _ . “And who is this handsome fellow?” she asked, reaching out to stroke Chewbacca’s forehead. He shied away from her touch.

“Uh, this is Chewbacca,” Rey explained quickly. “He’s, um, BB’s stable pony.”

“Is that her barn name?” Kylie asked. She had gotten out a notebook and pen and was scribbling.

“Yeah,” said Rey. “BB.”

“How would you describe her?” Kylie continued. “Is she a calm horse? Any quirks?”

“She’s, um, she’s very sweet,” Rey stammered, thoroughly flustered. “Very calm and collected. Likes to be the center of attention.”

“And what are your thoughts on Dameron? Is he good to work with?”

“He’s great,” Rey replied. “He’s a wonderful horseman. Very kind.”

“And how would you describe your relationship with Ben Solo?” Kylie asked smoothly.

Rey froze, mortified. “Uh,” she said, feeling her face turn beet-red. “I don’t work for him,” she continued quickly. “I work for Leia Organa. And Poe.”

“We both know that’s not what I’m talking about,” Kylie said with a pointed smile, in a tone that was threateningly polite.

“I  _ don’t  _ know what you’re talking about,” Rey protested rapidly, backing away closer to Chewbacca.

Kylie smirked, then pulled a photo out of the pages of her notebook. “So you’re telling me this  _ isn’t  _ you?” she asked smarmily.

Rey gaped. It was  _ the  _ photo.  _ That _ photo. Of her and Ben locking lips in the grandstand at the Resurgent. “Uh,” she stuttered, panicked. “Um,” she added intelligently. Then: “No comment.”

Kylie’s smirk only deepened. “I see,” she said, still scribbling. “I understand why he would want to keep it quiet,” she went on in a conspiratorial tone. “He is  _ quite  _ the playboy. But you can talk to me,” she wheedled. 

“I think you should leave,” Rey said, absolutely horrified by this conversation.

Kylie’s smile was calm and victorious. “Looks like my next appointment is about ready for me, anyways,” she said snippily, looking over to where Dameron was leading BB Eight back to the barn, her photoshoot completed. “Toodles.”

As she departed, Rey sank to the floor of the stall, sitting in the straw with her back against the comfortingly chilly cinder block wall, her heart hammering in her throat.  _ What the hell was that _ ? she wondered frantically.

“Oxford!” she heard Poe’s voice ring out. Standing on wobbly legs, she leaned over the stall guard. Dameron was standing next to Kylie, apparently preparing for his interview. He waved at her. “Take the pony for a ride,” he said. “He needs some exercise. I’ll be back soon.” They vanished together around the corner of the barn.

Rey took a shaky breath. OK. Ride the pony. She could do that. That was easy. She walked to the empty stall where they were stored the tack, lifted Chewbacca’s heavy western-style saddle off its rack, and went to tack him up. Just as she got the bridle pulled up over his ears, Ben appeared at the stall door.

“Hey,” he said, and she startled hard. He was  _ not  _ who she wanted to see right now. “You okay?” he asked, concerned, noticing her discombobulation immediately.

“I… I have to ride the pony,” she stammered, not looking at him.

“What’s the matter?” he asked, frowning.

“Nothing,” she said shortly.

“Oxford,” Ben said pleadingly. “Talk to me. Did I do something?”

“No,” she replied. “I just have to… go.” She lead Chewbacca, fully tacked, out of his stall and prepared to mount up. Ben was staring at her, confusion clear on his face. She ignored him, feeling the flush return to her cheeks, and swung up into the saddle.

Finally he said: “I can’t believe you’re making me do this,” and stalked away. She had no idea what she was making him do, but was glad that she didn’t have to talk to him right now.

She rode Chewbacca down the horse-path at an easy walk. It felt good to be on horse-back. She could already feel herself calming down. The smell and the creak of the leather was warm and familiar; the  rhythm of riding had already gotten into her bones, where it would stay for the rest of her life. When the horse bug bites, the fever is permanent.

Suddenly there was a clatter of hooves behind her. Surprised, she turned in the saddle just in time to see Ben, mounted on the brilliantly marked Ewok, reining the stable pony from a canter to a walk. She stared at him in shock. She’d never seen him get on a horse before, but he clearly knew what he was doing -- his balance was steady, his posture correct, and his hands soft on the reins. Ewok snorted, unhappy to halt his wild run.

Ben took a gasping breath. “It really  _ is  _ like riding a bike,” he breathed, sounding a bit surprised at himself.

“You’re going to kill that pony,” Rey said. He was certainly too tall to look graceful on Ewok -- his feet hung down inches past the girth. He hadn’t bothered putting his feet in the stirrups. Likely they didn’t adjusted down that far.

He frowned. “I’m not  _ that _ heavy,” he protested.

Rey said nothing; she was too interested in watching him ride. He looked imminently comfortable in the saddle, even without stirrups to balance on, relaxed and happy. There was a slight grin on his face -- the sort of grin you get when you go riding for the first time in a long time and you remember that  _ this _ is why you put up with all the drama intrinsic to horsemanship.  

“So you wanna talk about it?” Ben asked, smoothly moving Ewok into place next to Chewbacca, close enough that their knees almost brushed.

“No,” said Rey stubbornly. She was too mortified.

Ben chewed on his lip. “I’ll race you,” he said at last. “To the chute. If I win, you have to talk. If you win, you don’t --  _ and _ you get bragging rights.”

“I’ve never even cantered before,” Rey said nervously.

“Gotta learn sometime,” Ben replied blithely.

“I’ll fall off!”

“Chewbacca will take care of you.”

“I don’t know---” Rey began.

“Ready, set, go,” Ben said, ignoring her, and kicked Ewok back into a canter. Chewbacca, without being cued, immediately followed his buddy, leaving Rey grabbing for the saddle horn as he plunged forwards.

“Ben!” she shrieked.

“Sit deep into it,” he yelled back. He was cool as a cucumber, riding smoothly. They were hardly even loping, though he wasn’t going to tell Rey that. She appeared convinced this was a runaway gallop.

She tried to take his advice, sitting deep and solid, moving her body with the motions of the horse. As she settled down into the saddle, the gait felt much smoother. She consciously relaxed her hands, shoulders, and legs, and Chewbacca took the looser rein as leave to accelerate slightly, advancing on Ewok.

Ewok was not a racehorse. Ewok had never been a racehorse. But he had lived amongst them for many years, and a little bit of their competitiveness had leaked into his spirit. As Chewbacca’s head drew level with his, Ewok seized the bit between his teeth --

\-- and bolted. Chewbacca followed suit, and Rey found the precarious balance she had attained crumble as he picked up speed, her form falling all to pieces.

“Shit!” Ben yelled at this development, sawing on the reins in an attempt to slow Ewok down. “Hang on,” he called to Rey, who already was, grasping the saddle horn for dear life.

They were rapidly approaching the chute. Ben finally got a handle on Ewok, slowing him down to a more manageable speed, and he braced one foot on a too-short stirrup and leaned over to grab Chewbacca’s bridle, bringing both horses back to a trot, then a walk, then a shaky halt.

Ben and Rey sat for a moment, both breathing heavily, both wide-eyed with adrenaline.

“That…” said Rey.

“Look,” Ben said quickly. “I’m sorry. I didn’t think they would take off like that. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“...was  _ awesome _ !” Rey finished, looking at Ben with a wide, exhilarated grin. “We were going so fast! It was like flying! I didn’t fall off!” she babbled. “Let’s do it again,” she continued, moving to turn Chewbacca around.

“No!” said Ben, reaching out for her reins again to restrain her. He apparently had a daredevil on his hands -- Poe was going to sorry he ever taught this one to ride.

Rey frowned at him. “Fine,” she said reluctantly. “But I want a rematch. Someday.”

Ben spurred Ewok to a walk, and the two horses strolled sedately like they hadn’t just been doing their best imitation of their Thoroughbred brethren.

“There was a reporter,” Rey said suddenly. Ben turned his head to look at her curiously. “She had the photo.  _ You _ know the one. She was asking questions about…” Rey trailed off uncertainly. “About us,” she finished at last.

“They’ll seize onto anything they think is a good story,” Ben reassured her. “You shouldn’t worry about it.”

“It’s just…” Rey said unhappily. “Is that what it would be like?”

Ben stared at her. Was she talking about what he thought she was talking about? What it would be like -- to be with him?

“I don’t want to live in a fishbowl,” Rey continued sadly, shaking her head. Ben reached out to take her hand, squeezing it comfortingly.

“It’ll blow over,” he reiterated. “It always does. We’ll --” and that was first time he’d let himself say it,  _ we _ , and he liked the way it tasted on his lips -- “we’ll be old news quickly.”

She looked up at him and smiled weakly. He squeezed her hand again.

They had reached the barn where BB Eight and Kylo Ren were stabled, and they turned off the horse-path and trundled up the shedrow. Poe was leaning on the railing, talking to Finn, and both men did a double take when they saw Rey and Ben ride up.

“Ben!” said Poe, shooting Ben a  _ very _ knowing look. “Good thing you’re back. They want a photo with you and Kylo Ren.”

“I’ll handle Ewok for you,” Finn volunteered, stepping forward to grab the reins as Ben swung down from the horse’s back.

“Thanks,” Ben said. “Where…?” Poe pointed, and Ben departed, looking back to smile at Rey.

“How romantic,” Finn commented snarkily as soon as Ben was out of earshot.

“Shut up,” Rey replied cordially as she dismounted.

She set to work untacking and grooming Chewbacca, listening with barely contained giggling to Ben’s voice as it echoed down the shedrow.

“I’m not standing that close to him. He’ll take a limb off.”

A scoff, followed by a startled yelp.

“Told you.”


	35. Chapter 35

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've noticed that a couple of people have recc'd me over on Tumblr -- which is so incredibly sweet of you! It means a lot. I am so glad y'all are enjoying reading the story as much as I am writing it :)

Leia flew in the Sunday morning six days before the Derby, and Ben’s first duty as newly reinstated son was to go pick her up from the airport. He didn’t tell Rey this until they were almost halfway there, however.

“You said we were going to get donuts,” Rey said reproachfully when he finally let her in on the true purpose of the mission.

“We still can,” he said soothingly. “After we get Leia.”

“We better,” Rey said darkly, staring out at the highway flashing past. False promises of food were equivalent to high treason for her.

Ben’s phone rang, and Rey grabbed it before he could. She looked at him sternly as he reached for it. “That’s dangerous,” she said authoritatively. “No cell phone and driving.”

“I need to answer that,” he protested.

“Consider me your secretary,” Rey said primly, and held the phone up to her ear. “Ben Solo’s phone,” she said sweetly. He scowled at her. Rey listened intently for a moment and then put her hand over the mouthpiece.

“It’s a caterer,” she said slowly. “Confirming Friday night.”

“Say yes,” Ben prompted.

Rey turned back to the phone. “Yes, that’s correct,” she said into it. “A hundred and fifty head? Wow.” She looked back at Ben, who was nodding at her. “Yes,” she repeated. “That’s right. Okay, thanks. You too. Bye.”

She looked back at him. “Who are you feeding, Ben?” she asked suspiciously.

He sighed. “I’m having another party,” he explained. “The night before the Derby. It’s tradition.”

“Where?”

“At the hotel. In the big ballroom.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” she asked, a bit hurt.

“I wanted it to be a surprise.”

“Why?” she asked, confused.

“I thought it would be… fun,” he said lamely. “To surprise you. With another chance at the party we missed back at Jakku Downs.”

“Are you asking me to go with you to this party?” Rey asked, unable to keep a hint of teasing from her tone.

“Yes,” said Ben nervously.

Rey bit her lip. “As a date?” she asked in a rush.

Ben felt his stomach lurch. “Yes,” he repeated, looking at her sideways trepidatiously.

“Okay,” Rey said simply, smiling a small, pleased smile.

“Really?” Ben asked, turning to look at her, not able to help it.

“Eyes on the road,” she reprimanded him. “And don’t make me reconsider,” she added lightly, still smiling.

Ben looked straight ahead, unable to keep a crooked grin off his face.

“Maybe no horses will get sick this time,” Rey mused.

“Maybe,” Ben agreed. “But they are horses. It’s their _job_ to get sick at inconvenient times.”

 

* * *

 

Ben pulled the truck into the arrivals lane at the airport and brought it to a halt in front of the correct door. Rey reached for the door handle, intending to move into the back seat.

“No, stay here,” Ben said, grabbing her elbow. “Leia can ride in the back.”

Rey glared. “You are _not_ going to make your mother ride in the back,” she scolded him, shaking herself free and climbing down from the truck. She opened the back door and reinstalled herself on the bench seat back there. “I know you only brought me as a buffer,” she continued smartly. “But that doesn’t mean I’m going to make it easy for you.”

“That’s not the _only_ reason I brought you,” Ben whined. “I happen to enjoy your company.”

Leia appeared at the glass double doors of the arrivals bay before they could argue the point any more, and Ben jumped out of the truck to take her luggage. She hugged him enthusiastically, and Rey had never seen him look so stiff and awkward. No _wonder_ he felt the need to trick her into coming along. He was flat out terrified of his mother.

Leia climbed up into the front seat -- and it was truly a climb for her; she was tiny, and looked even tinier next to Ben’s ridiculous height. “Where did you _get_ this thing?” she asked Ben, looking around the truck curiously.

Ben smirked as he started the truck. “It’s a long story,” he said. “Let’s just say my assistant trainer has a sense of humor.”

“Hi Ms. Leia,” Rey said nervously from the back seat. She remembered being reprimanded for calling her “Mrs. Organa” but was far too shy to jump straight to “Leia.”

“Rey!” said Leia happily, turning in the front seat to hug her awkwardly. “Did Ben drag you all the way out here?” she asked sternly.

“Yes,” Rey confirmed. “Via trickery!” she added. “He promised me donuts.”

“You promised her donuts?” Leia asked Ben seriously. “You better get her donuts.”

“I’m _going to_ ,” Ben replied, a thoroughly hen-pecked expression on his face.

Leia was silent for a moment, scrolling through something on her phone. “I don’t know what I’m going to do about this party Friday,” she said absently. “I’ve got about a million panicked emails.”

“You’re having a pre-Derby party, too?” Rey asked, glancing at Ben.

Leia scowled. “I _was,_ ” she said. “But I have no venue. The bastards sold the hotel out from under me.”

Ben looked suddenly very, very guilty. Leia noticed immediately. Rey imagined she had seen that same expression many times while Ben was growing up.

“You didn’t,” Leia said, realization dawning on her face.

“I did,” Ben admitted unhappily. “I bought it.”

“Brat,” said Leia, and Rey saw the corner of Ben’s mouth quirk into a small smile; this was apparently a epithet that was familiar to him.

Rey had an epiphany. “There’s only one thing to do,” she said grandly. Ben eyed her suspiciously in the rear-view mirror; Leia twisted in her seat to regard her appraisingly. “You have to combine them,” Rey finished simply.

Leia looked at Ben nervously. “I don’t know…” she said slowly.

“No,” said Ben, glaring at Rey in the mirror.

“It’ll be fine,” Rey said dismissively.

“I’m sure there is a considerable overlap in the guest list,” Leia mused.

“No,” said Ben again.

“Twice the food, twice the fun!” Rey added convincingly.

“I don’t think there’s a direct correlation between those two things,” Ben said.

“Um, yes there is,” Rey disagreed.

“I think it’s a great idea,” said Leia suddenly. “We’ll do it.”

Ben glared at Rey accusingly in the rearview mirror. Leia lightly slapped his shoulder. “Stop making faces,” she said in a very motherly tone.

“Yeah, your face’ll stick like that,” Rey added blithely.

Ben turned his eyes back on the road, and drove very, very deliberately, maintaining a very, very deliberate silence while Rey and Leia chattered about the preparations.

* * *

 

The Monday morning before the Derby, the owners and trainers of the competitors gather for the post position draw. Each horse is assigned a number representing where they will break from the gate. For any regular race, this is done randomly, but since this was the Derby, everything had to be imbued with an additional layer of ceremony. It was just the nature of the beast.

Twenty horses were entered in Saturday’s race, and so twenty people would be assigned numbers, and then would have the opportunity to select a post position in that assigned order. There were distinct and varied strategies. A horse who wins on the lead needs an excellent post position to have a shot -- being carried too wide on the turns can spell disaster. A horse who closes from behind, however, has much more flexibility in terms of where they break, since they will fall to the back of the pack initially anyways. Contrary to what might seem obvious, the inner rail is almost as much of a disadvantage as the far outside -- it is much too easy to get squeezed back between horses as those outside crowd towards the rail. Positions 5-9 were considered primo territory. Anything closer to the rail was in the danger zone, and anything farther out was just increasing the distance you had to run.

The ceremony was televised, and Finn had gone to the racing office to watch it, but Rey opted to stay with the horses -- Poe liked to have someone with them at all times if possible, even with the heavy security in the stakes barn. She had a small radio hanging from BB Eight’s stall guard, however, and was listening to the broadcast as she combed BB’s bright red mane. Ben had just drawn seventh pick, and Leia had thirteenth. She listened closely as the earlier draws began to pick their stalls.

“Is Ben around?” a gruff, unfamiliar voice asked.

Rey looked up from her work, thoroughly startled. An older man with iron gray hair stood in front of BB’s stall, looking at her with brown eyes that were soft in his craggy face. Something about him was hauntingly familiar, but she couldn’t place it right away.

“He’s at the draw,” Rey said, confused.

“That it?” the man asked, motioning to the radio, and Rey nodded. They both leaned in to listen as Ben picked stall nine for Kylo Ren.

“Huh,” said the strange man. “Don’t know about that for the colt.”

“He’ll just get hustled early,” Rey agreed, shaking her head. “He doesn’t want the lead anyways. Why put him so close?”

The man considered her appraisingly. “Coulda put ‘im farther out without an issue,” he stated.

“Much less early traffic that way,” Rey said, nodding.

The man smiled crookedly, and Rey instantly realized why he was so familiar. The hair was gray, the face was lined, but the eyes and the smile were all Ben.

“You’re Han, aren’t you?” she asked, looking at him with interest.

“That’s me,” said Han Solo, his crooked grin growing. Rey smiled back.

The radio announced that number thirteen was up. “Oh, that’s Leia,” Rey said, leaning close to the radio again. Han flinched slightly at the name, but listened intently anyways.

Leia apparently selected stall ten, just to the outside of Kylo Ren, for BB Eight.

“Decent spot for the filly,” Han said sagely. “If she can break fast enough.”

“She breaks like greased lightning,” Rey said proudly, patting her charge’s neck affectionately.

“This the colt?” Han asked, gesturing to Kylo Ren who had his head out over the stall guard as if he, too, were listening to the broadcast. The ceremony was just ending, and the radio went suddenly silent as the broadcast cut off.

“Yes,” said Rey, “but be careful, he--”

Han already had his calloused hand on the colt’s nose. He fidgeted slightly, tossing his silky black head, obviously wanting to have a go at this stranger. “Hush, son,” said Han in his gentle, deep voice, and the colt stilled at once, snorting quietly. Man and horse regarded one another for a long moment. Then Han smiled.

“Look of eagles,” he said gruffly, smoothing the colt’s forelock before dropping his hand and walking back over to Rey and BB Eight. Rey was in shock that he still _had_ a hand. “And this is Dameron’s filly,” he said, looking at BB Eight, who was stretching her head towards him to nuzzle at his jacket.

Rey nodded.

“She knows I always have mints in my pocket,” Han laughed, pulling one out and offering it to BB Eight, who took it eagerly. Most horses love sugary things, but BB Eight had a serious sweet tooth. “That Resurgent,” Han said, rubbing the filly’s jaw. “That was a helluva race.”

“You’re telling me,” said Rey.

And so they talked horses, Rey’s favorite thing to talk, and it was surprisingly easy. Han was obviously a seasoned veteran of the track, and Rey kept recognizing phrases that she’d heard Dameron utter a thousand times, things he’d evidently learned from the elder Solo.

There was the roar of a diesel engine, and Ben’s truck pulled back up to their barn. Rey waved at him excitedly as he stepped down from the truck, and he waved back before walking around to the passenger door to extend his hand like a gentleman to help Leia down. They came back around the front of the truck --

\-- and froze.

Rey realized that Han, too, was motionless at her side.

Rey realized that, most likely, none of them had seen each other in years.

Rey realized that Leia looked horrified and Ben looked terrified, and she was in the middle of it all grinning like a loon.

Rey realized many things, but chief amongst them was the fact that she was smack dab in the center of a big fat Solo family reunion.


	36. Chapter 36

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Officially novel length? Officially novel length :D

How it was decided that they were going to brunch Rey had no idea; and how it was decided that she would be accompanying them Rey had even less.

Ben moved first, striding over to Han. “I’m so glad you could make it,” he said, and Rey could hear the strain in his voice. She decided that his was a good time to make an exit, and began to edge away, but he looked at her sternly with an expression that suggested _don’t you dare leave me here_. So she decided to just look at the ground instead.

Han didn’t miss a beat. “Had to come see this horse of yours,” he replied gruffly. “Big mean sonuva bitch, isn’t he?”

Ben laughed tightly. “That he is.”

Han looked over Ben’s shoulder. “Leia,” he said simply.

“Han,” she replied.

Ben edged closer to Rey, who was again contemplating escape. She pondered whether or not she could outrun him. He had the height advantage -- but she was small and quick.

“I like your girl here,” Han said grudgingly.

Leia smiled slightly. Complimenting BB Eight was certainly the fastest way to her heart.

“Filly’s all right too, I guess,” Han added with a sly crooked grin, glancing at Rey, who flushed.

Leia laughed. “You haven’t changed,” she said warmly to Han. Then, slower: “It’s good to see you.”

Han dipped his head in agreement, still with that crooked smile, his eyes mischievous. The lines in his craggy face were from years of smiling like that -- Rey liked that. If you had to get wrinkles from something, it might as well be happiness.

Leia, now recovered from her shock, drew herself up regally, and announced that brunch was the order of the day. She was a woman of impeccable breeding and grace, and somewhere deep in her manners rulebook was an entry that simply said: “When in doubt, do brunch.” She defaulted to this now.

“See ya later,” Rey said quickly but politely, backing away towards the barn, but Ben caught her by the elbow.

“You’re coming,” he said quietly.

“No,” said Rey at once.

“Free food,” he wheedled, knowing the way to her heart.

She regarded him steadily from under her eyelashes. “Not worth it,” she decided.

“Please?” Ben asked. Rey considered him appraisingly, realization dawning on her face.

“Ohhh, I get it,” she said conspiratorially. “You want to parent trap them.”

“What?” Ben asked, mystified.

“I’m in,” Rey continued. “What’s the plan? How do we do it?”

“What are you talking about?” Ben asked.

“Parent trap,” Rey repeated. “Like in that movie with the Lohan twins.”

“There are no Lohan twins,” Ben said slowly.

Rey looked at him skeptically. “I _saw_ the movie. There’s twins.”

Ben sighed. “I am _not_ trying to parent trap them,” he said patiently. “I just need a buffer.”

“You really think me being there will get them to behave?” Rey asked.

“I’m not worried about _them_ behaving,” Ben clarified. “I’m worried about _me_.”

“ _Fine_ ,” Rey hissed. “The food better be awesome.”

They piled into the truck, Rey and Han in the backseat, and just as Han was closing the door Poe’s car pulled up and Poe himself bounded out.

“Han!” he exclaimed excitedly.

“Junior!” Han greeted him warmly, opening the door back up to shake his hand firmly. Poe would forever be Dameron Jr. to Han.

“We’re going to brunch!” Rey informed Poe quickly. “You should come!”

Poe took in the tableau: Ben shooting him pleading eyes, Leia still looking slightly shell-shocked, Rey suggesting with her eyes that she was considering kidnapping him if he refused. His expression changed to something wary. “I have… to do something,” he said slowly.

“What thing?” Rey asked cheerily.

“You know,” Poe said uncomfortably. “The thing.”

“Oh, that thing,” said Rey. “Finn told me _he_ would do that thing.”

“Oh, no,” Poe protested. “Finn is doing the other thing. _This_ thing, I have to do.”

“No, I’m _pretty_ sure Finn is taking care of it,” Rey insisted. “Looks like you’re free after all!”

“Oh, right,” said Poe, defeated. “I remember now.” He climbed up next to Rey reluctantly. Rey had never been so happy to be sandwiched in the middle of the backseat of a car.

“Off we go then,” Ben said through the awkward silence.

“Are we parent trapping them?” Poe whispered to Rey as they drove off.

Rey nodded sagely.

Ben looked like he wanted to punch the steering wheel.

* * *

 

They went back to the hotel, where Ben had sheepishly gotten Leia a room after being thoroughly lectured about buying hotels and ruining other people's’ plans. The attached restaurant had an excellent brunch -- on Sundays. Ben managed to convince the staff to make an exception for this very special Monday. He could be very convincing: money, after all, does talk, much louder than actions _or_ words.

Ben did his best to place Poe and Rey on either side of him -- creating a quite literal buffer zone -- but Rey foiled his plans. “Aren’t you left-handed?” she asked innocently. “You take the corner seat, that’ll be more comfortable. There ya go,” she finished as Ben glared at her and sat down. She got his coveted seat next to Poe, with Ben on her other side.

The waiter brought out coffee, and Rey took a deep swig of hers. “Keep ‘em coming,” she advised the man.

“This place is nice,” Han said, looking around.

“Your son bought it,” Leia said.

“Did you?” Han asked, surprised. “Why?”

“I’ve always wanted to get into the hotel business,” Ben replied sarcastically. Rey poked his arm.

“Dameron and I couldn’t find rooms in town,” she corrected. “So Ben helped us out.”

Han looked a little shocked. “That was damn nice of you, son,” he said slowly. “Fool use of money, though.”

“It’s far from the most foolish thing I’ve bought,” Ben growled.

“Why don’t you tell Han about your software?” Rey went on, desperate to steer the conversation into more civil territory. Ben positively glared at her.

“You been playing with computers again?” Han asked off-handedly.

Ben gritted his teeth. “I made $800 million dollars playing with computers,” he bristled. Rey touched his arm again.

“I guess a lot of the kids are into that kinda thing nowadays,” Han said, sounding a bit disappointed in the entire generation.

“Hardly kids,” Ben replied acidly. “I’m turning thirty tomorrow, after all.”

“Tomorrow?” Han asked, cocking his head. “I coulda sworn it was next month.”

“ _I_ knew it was tomorrow,” Leia said primly. “Remember, he was born two weeks before Alderaan,” she reminded Han.

“Right,” said Han, nodding.

Ben scowled. “I’ll be right back,” he said, standing abruptly.

Rey watched him go. “I have to pee,” she announced, getting up and going after him. She’d always found that if one had to lie, it was best to make it an embarrassing one, because nobody ever suspected you were lying when you said something like that. They just assumed you were painfully honest and had issues with boundaries.

“What have you been up to, Junior?” she heard Han asking Poe as she left.

Ben was standing in the lobby, stock still, his fists balled up at his sides. Rey approached him slowly, reaching out to touch his arm as she got close.

“I shouldn’t have asked him to come out here,” Ben said to her quietly. “That was a mistake.” He shook his head despondently. “It’s all the same shit all over again. Nothing’s changed.”

“ _You_ have,” Rey reminded him gently.

“I don’t feel like it,” Ben said miserably. “When I’m around him.”

“I know,” said Rey, rubbing his shoulder comfortingly.

“ _Anybody_ else,” Ben said. “ _Anybody_ else would be proud of what I’ve accomplished. But he doesn’t care because I’m not a horse trainer. It doesn’t even matter to him. Nothing about me ever mattered after I left the racetrack.”

“Ben,” said Rey. “I know his type. They’re all over the track. He’s an old-fashioned, blue-collar guy. Training horses hasn’t changed in a hundred years and so he doesn’t consider than anything else has, either. Never went to college -- right? Probably doesn’t even know what an email is. He doesn’t understand the things you’ve based your career on, and he’s embarrassed by that, so he demeans them. He doesn’t understand you, but Ben -- he _loves_ you.”

“How do you know that?” Ben asked, a little angrily.

“Would he have come all the way out here if he didn’t?” Rey asked earnestly.

Ben just looked at her, deep in thought. “It’s pointless. We have nothing in common,” he said at last. “We never have.”

Rey laughed. “Yes, you do,” she said. “You have the _horse_.”

Ben frowned.

“Extend an olive branch,” Rey went on. “Try to understand each other.”

“Fine,” said Ben.

They returned to the table, where Poe was talking about the Organa horses with glowing pride. “We have a Naboo granddaughter in the barn,” he was saying as they sat back down. “Little gray filly. Hasn’t started yet, but she might be something.”

“Hope springs eternal,” Han said gravely.

Poe nodded towards Ben. “But of course _we_ don’t have the favorite for the Kentucky Derby in the barn.”

“Only the second favorite,” said Rey defensively.

“Ben says Kylo Ren has a 25-foot stride,” Poe continued.

Han looked at Ben, interested. “They say Secretariat had a 25-foot stride,” he said doubtfully. “How do you measure it?”

“It’s-it’s a function of my software,” Ben stammered uncertainly.

“That so?” Han asked. Then: “What’s your plan with him?”

“He’ll work tomorrow,” Ben said, seeming to gain some confidence. “Four furlongs, I think.”

Han considered. “I’d send him five,” he mused.

Rey could see Ben brace himself against what he perceived as criticism before he shrugged it off as typical Han orneriness. “Maybe we will,” he said calmly.

* * *

 

After brunch, which ended much more peacefully than it began, with both Ben and Han relaxing with one another, managing to talk and joke and reminisce with Poe about those days they had spent together what seemed like a lifetime ago. Leia seemed happy to see her son conversing with his father without animosity, and Rey was thrilled at the outcome of her pep talk. If you had told her a month ago that she would be sitting with these four people around a table and _nobody_ would get punched, she would have laughed you out of town.

They headed back to the track to drop Poe off, and Rey went to check on the horses and a confused Finn who had no idea where everybody had gone. When she filled him in, he was rather glad to have missed it all.

Ben went to talk with Hux about working Kylo Ren four versus five furlongs the next day, and when he returned, he found Han peering at his video equipment, which was sitting in the tack-room, still packed.

“This your set-up? For the bio-whatsis computer stuff?” Han asked, examining the equipment doubtfully.

“Yeah,” said Ben, a bit defensively, like he wanted to sweep it all up and hide it from view.

Han considered the complicated equipment for a long moment. Then, he looked at Ben and smiled.

“Show me how it works, son.”


	37. Chapter 37

Ben Solo awoke in the darkness of his hotel room early Tuesday morning, and contemplated the fact that he was now thirty years old. The movies always made it out to be a day of existential despair, but he didn’t really feel that way. He didn’t really feel any different at all. And wasn’t that always the case with birthdays -- you never felt any different. The differences didn’t come all at once on a specified date; they crept up on you, changing you bit by bit until you no longer recognized the child you had been. Until you no longer recognized yourself in the mirror and wondered if you ever would again.

The events of the past few days had left him feeling very  _ raw _ , as if his soul itself had been scalded in boiling water, as if he had shed his old skin and was slowly and painfully growing a new one. His  _ parents _ were here, and they weren’t fighting with each other and they weren’t fighting with him, and he could hardly remember the last time  _ that  _ had been true. And they’d sat down like a family and eaten a meal together, and nobody ended up in tears and nobody disowned anybody and nobody stormed out prematurely -- and maybe those were low bars but he’d set them lower and still been disappointed in the past. 

Han had managed to get under his skin in a matter of microseconds, which was probably a new record, but somehow both of them had managed to stay calm and civil and ended up having a better conversation that they’d had in years. And for just the briefest of moments, as he explained as plainly as possible the basic principles behind his biomechanics algorithm, he saw himself as Han did: as the messy-haired boy of seven who was already asking questions that his father couldn’t answer, who never needed homework help which was a good thing because Han knew he wouldn’t be able to help much, anyway. Who would rather sit inside and play on a damn machine than be out under the sun with the horses -- and no wonder they had clashed so, Han who believed nothing mattered except what you could do with your _hands_ , his son who discounted everything as unimportant that was not done with the _mind._

But the look on Han’s face yesterday as Ben had shown him his passion project was the expression of a proud parent at a science fair, and Ben had felt something tight and rigid and painful inside of him relax and fade away. Han didn’t understand him, had never understood him, would never -- but Han  _ loved  _ him and he always had and he always would. 

It turns out there’s such a thing as a second chance. And by some obscure miracle somehow they’d all been given one -- and Ben had no intention of wasting it.

Rey hadn’t immediately ditched him upon seeing what a train wreck his family was.  _ That  _ was something. She’d also very cheekily upgraded an embarrassing mess of a fumbled surprise party invitation into something she wanted to call a  _ date _ . 

That was also something. 

Although he should have called it that himself, from the very beginning when he asked her to the ill-fated pre-Resurgent gala, but he hadn’t, and this was the mess he’d gotten himself into because of that.

Ben felt raw, disjointed, disassociated, halfway out of his body and entirely out of his element, like anything could happen and just maybe it would. He didn’t really have anything to do -- he was thoroughly awake, excruciatingly bored, and kind of miffed at feeling so lonely  _ on his birthday _ , so he did the only thing that seemed like an option: he got up and went to the racetrack.

Rey was already there -- they’d all been rotating getting up early to feed the horses, since there was really no need for all six of them to be there at 4AM each morning when they only had four horses between them. Apparently she’d drawn the short straw today, though she didn’t appear to mind. She always looked more at home amongst the horses than anywhere else. Some people -- like Poe, like Rey -- were born with hoofbeats for heartbeats, with rolling hills in their souls that ran mustangs.

He wished that he’d ever felt that at home anywhere.

Sometimes he thought he  _ could _ maybe, so long as he was standing next to her.

She was sitting on a hay bale next to BB Eight’s stall, rolling bandages with her quick, efficient hands. She smiled when she looked up and noticed him, shrugging sheepishly at the neat pyramid of wraps beside her. “Finn is rubbish at rolling them,” she told him. “I always have to redo it.”

“You’re good at it,” he said. He sat down next to her heavily. “I’m sorry about yesterday,” he said. “I kind of threw you in the deep end.”

Rey smirked playfully. “You  _ do  _ know that the ‘meet the in-laws’ brunch usually happens quite a while  _ after  _ the first date, right?” she teased him.

Ben smiled. “You were right,” he went on.

“I usually am,” she replied primly, looking adorably smug. “What about?”

“About trying to understand Han. And Leia, really. When I’m around them I just kind of…” He shook his head. “ _ Revert... _ back into a person that I’m not anymore. That I don’t want to be anymore.” He was quiet for a moment. Rey bumped his shoulder with her own.

“And I’m sorry my family is so weird,” he finished.

“I think they all are,” Rey said sagely. “Everybody’s weird, some deeper down than others, but you only get to know your family well enough to see it. That’s what _ makes  _ them family. They know exactly how weird you are and they love you anyway.”

Ben smiled crookedly, ruefully. “You’re pretty wise for a barnrat, you know.”

“And you’re not  _ that  _ big of a dick for a millionaire.”

* * *

 

BB Eight went out first, as befits a lady. The apron in front of the grandstand was packed with onlookers -- quite impressive given it was only 6AM. There were sportswriters and fans, reporters and racetrackers, all here to see the pair that had captured the public imagination -- the strapping, buoyant filly with the fierce eyes and the grit to tangle with the boys, and the half-wild, reckless colt who moved like a predator and closed like a freight train. The story was almost too good to be true: mother and son, colt and filly, an intense rivalry that was nonetheless apparently lacking animosity. Shipped together, stabled together, friends, perhaps, in the barn but ruthless competitors on the track. BB Eight was born to be a media darling, all fluttering eyelashes and confident posing and delicately taking carrots proffered by star-struck fans, while Kylo Ren couldn’t have projected more of a ‘bad boy’ image if he’d had a horse-sized leather jacket and tribal tattoos. 

The crowd applauded when BB Eight stepped out onto the track and she positively  _ preened _ .

Dameron shouted last minute instructions to the jockey, who took her counter clockwise around the track, her jog giving way to a canter and then an easy, rolling gallop. She made an entire lap like that, looking relaxed and tremendous, and then the second time around, about three furlongs out from the quarter pole, the jockey touched her with the whip and she flew. The crowd murmured as they realized what was planned: this was a blow-out, a short and blazingly fast workout to sharpen a horse to the finest edge possible. The clocker, up in his lonely tower, hit his stopwatch when she passed the quarter pole, and again when she danced across the finish line: two furlongs in :21 flat, a phenomenally quick work.

“The trees swayed,” wrote one reporter who was there to witness it. If you listened to the crowd right then, you might have predicted the morning line odds shifting to favor the filly.

BB Eight pranced back to the barn, feeling as full of herself as ever, knowing nothing of the time or of the thoughts and words of onlookers, knowing only that she was a racehorse and that this morning she had  _ run _ , and thus everything was right in her world.

Kylo Ren emerged onto the track the moment it reopened at 7AM from being plowed. The crowd again applauded dutifully, and he shied and danced from the sound. And as he cantered down the backstretch it was in anything but a straight line -- he dipped and weaved, dropping his shoulder more than once in a sneaky effort to dump his jockey, throwing his head and kicking out behind and generally making a fantastic nuisance of himself in every way he knew. 

But when his rider asked him to move he became a different horse. Suddenly all business, his stride lengthened and his head went down as he fought against the hold the jockey had on his mouth. He breezed five furlongs and made it look like a stroll in the park, stopping the clock just a shade under a minute, and he mightily resisted every effort of his rider to pull him up afterwards. 

He looked tremendous, like a half-wild thing with his characteristically long and unruly mane curling on his inky black neck, an iron horse, a freight train, an unstoppable force who hasn’t yet met his immovable object. 

The field was set; the post positions were drawn; and the contenders had worked for the last time. Derby day was almost upon them, with all its pomp and ceremony and tradition, and even if the horses didn’t understand any of that, they could still feel the growing energy and anxiety of the people around them, could still sense the crescendoing fever that strikes us all the first week in May. 

There was nothing left to do but wait.


	38. Chapter 38

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello beautiful people -- we are coming up to the homestretch of this story. I have probably about 10k words to go, including a long epilogue. But there is going to be lots of good stuff packed in those 10k words, so buckle up!

Rey practically pounced on him when Ben arrived back at the hotel on Tuesday evening, after a long day of hobnobbing with various media outlets, giving interviews and snapping pictures so that Hux wouldn’t be bothered. He wasn’t really doing it out of consideration for Hux -- he just had a certain image he wanted to maintain, and ‘angry British redhead’ was not a part of it.

“You have to come up to my room,” Rey said.

“Why?” Ben asked.

She paused. She had clearly not anticipated this question. “It’s… um… it’s the--the faucet,” she finished lamely. She was a terrible liar -- he found it adorable. 

“The faucet?” he asked with mock concern. “What’s it doing?”

“Uh… spraying. Water’s everywhere,” she said, making an expansive gesture. “In the walls. The ceiling.”

“Oh my,” said Ben, playing along just to see her frustration grow. “Have you called maintenance?”

“No,” she said at once, then reconsidered. “Yes. Well, Finn did.” 

“And?”

“They said to call you,” she declared. 

“That’s strange,” said Ben, frowning. “I better just go talk to the front desk and see what’s going on,” he added, turning as if to walk away.

“No!” said Rey, grabbing his elbow to stop him. “Just… just come, okay?”

“You’re not very good at this,” he told her kindly. 

“Shut up,” she replied.

They walked into the room she shared with Finn, and found him sitting there on the couch with a stack of pizza boxes in front of him, a slice poised in his hand, and a very guilty expression on his face. “Happy birthday!” he said thickly around a mouthful of pizza.

“Finn, what the hell?” Rey demanded.

He shrugged. “It was hot,” he protested. “I was hungry. You were taking forever.”

Poe and Hux appeared in the doorway, weighed down with cookies and cola. “We raided the snack-bar,” Poe said conspiratorily. “Happy birthday, you old fart!” he added, slapping Ben’s shoulder.

“Watch it,” said Ben, though he couldn’t keep a smile off his face. “You’re older than me, if I recall correctly.”

“Yes, but not everyone can age as gracefully as me,” Poe retorted.

“I’m only here because the girl threatened violence,” Hux contributed unnecessarily. “And I quite believe her capable of following through.”

“That’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me,” Ben replied. “Scoot over, Finn, I want some of that pizza.”

Phasma arrived in a rush before they could really get started on it, with a large flat box in her hands. “I got the cake!” she announced. Rey jumped up excitedly to examine it but her expression quickly turned skeptical.

“Is that…” she asked doubtfully. “A My Little Pony cake?”

Phasma shrugged. “It seemed appropriate,” she said. “They were very confused when I asked them to write ‘Ben’ on it, but I told them I wasn’t interested in enforcing gender norms with my children, and they took it in stride.”

“I loved that show when I was a kid,” Rey went on, still peering at the cake with concern. “But I don’t remember a pony that was black with glowing red eyes.”

“I may have taken some creative liberties,” Phasma admitted guiltily.

“It’s Kylo Ren, obviously,” Finn put in.

“Kylo Ren doesn’t have glowing red eyes,” Rey protested.

“Well, he would if he could,” mused Ben. Hux nodded his agreement. 

“Okay,” said Phasma, holding the cake aloft. “Sing!” she commanded.

It wasn’t the most masterful rendition of Happy Birthday that Ben had ever heard -- Poe was woefully off-key, Finn’s mouth was still full of pizza, and Phasma was attempting some kind of warbling harmonization that was not working as she intended. Rey sang like an angel, of course -- he’d expected no less.

He loved it, the whole silly thing.

He loved that they would do this for him -- only with strict orders from Rey, true, but still.

His brain still wouldn’t let him call them his friends, not out loud, but his heart knew that of course they were.

* * *

 

The days leading up to the Derby crept past agonizingly slowly. Rey had taken to walking circles around the shedrow  _ sans _ horse just to work off the frenetic anxiety that kept her from sleeping. Her body was not used to this drop in physical activity. By Thursday morning, Ben had joined her in the long, pointless walks.  He felt like a child in the seemingly endless days leading up to Christmas morning, off school and already bored with the activities available at home, with nothing to do except sit beneath the tree and gaze at the presents you weren’t allowed to touch. 

Finn made fun of them both, of course -- he seemed utterly unbothered by any of it. Luckily the horses didn’t seem to catch the worry of their owners -- they were as cheerful as ever, completely unaware of what was coming, other than that maybe there was a _race_ , as far as they might be able to conceptualize that, and that they liked _winning_ races. Horses knew nothing of money and prestige: a race was a race, and a race was _just_ a race, and Rey could imagine BB Eight scoffing at her worry. _Why are you so worried?_ ** _You’re_** _not running. Leave it me, kid_. _This is_ ** _my_** _game._

The official morning line odds came out Thursday, and they were all surprised to find that BB Eight had been promoted from second favorite to co-favorite, with both the horses going into the pari-mutuel betting at 2-1 -- strong, but not overwhelming favorites. With a field as large as the Kentucky Derby, there were a number of favored horses: other competitors had morning line odds at 5-2, 3-1, 4-1, 7-2. It was a strong field, despite the fact that media was making it out to be a match race between Kylo Ren and BB Eight. 

At the risk of tautology:

It was going to be a horse race.

* * *

 

But creep past the days did, and Ben found himself finally and somehow very suddenly at Friday morning, Kentucky Oaks day -- and the day he was doing two of things that a few months ago he would have insisted were categorically impossible: going on a date with Rey and hosting a gala  _ with his mother _ .

“No,” said Leia as she walked into the hotel’s main ballroom. It bustled with caterers and decorators and roadies setting up the sound system, a-flurry with activity and thoroughly under construction.

“What?” Ben growled next to her.

“Just no,” she repeated, turning on her heel to glare up at him. “Black tablecloths?” she asked indignantly. “With red rose centerpieces? It looks like a vampire’s getting married in here.” 

“Maybe that’s what I’m going for,” Ben replied sarcastically. “Plus it’s my stable colors. And it looks awesome.”

“It looks  _ gauche _ ,” Leia contradicted him.

“It’s the  _ Run for the Roses _ ,” Ben protested adamantly. “You have to have roses. It’s not optional.”

“Well, I have daylilies coming,” Leia said primly. “Orange ones.”

Ben stared. “That’s going to look dreadful,” he said. “Like Halloween.”

“It wouldn’t look dreadful if we ditched the black tablecloths,” Leia suggested smoothly. “Why does everything always have to be black with you?”

“It’s  _ elegant _ ,” Ben insisted. 

“It’s  _ depressing _ ,” Leia shot back. “It’s not a funeral, for God’s sake!”

Rey popped up at Ben’s elbow, taking in the half-decorated ballroom with enthusiasm.

“What’s the theme?” she asked brightly. “Dracula’s wedding reception?”

Ben sighed. Leia gave him a triumphant look and he glared. “Yes,” he replied spitefully.

Rey looked around, considering. “Well, you nailed it,” she said at last. “What’s that?” she asked, looking at where the caterers were setting up with interest.

“That’s the chocolate fountain,” Ben replied.

“That’s a  _ thing _ ?!”

“Yep.”

Rey shook her head in amazement. “What  _ will  _ they think of next?” she wondered aloud.

Finn and Poe wandered in to join them, rubbernecking at the commotion.

“It’s very My Chemical Romance in here,” said Finn after a moment of consideration.

“Actually it reminds of Ben in high school,” said Poe thoughtfully. “Say, Ben, are you gonna wear eyeliner for old time’s sake?”

“Why are you all in here?” Ben asked with a glare at Poe.

“We’re bored,” Poe replied matter-of-factly. 

“Then go watch a movie or something,” Ben suggested. 

Poe pouted. “Finn brought a bunch,” he said, “but they’re all horse movies. I don’t think I can watch  _ Spirit: Stallion of the Cimarron _ one more time and live to tell the tale.”

“That movie is  _ awesome _ ,” Finn and Rey protested at the same time.

Ben raised his hands for quiet. “All of you,” he said sternly. “Get out. Scram. You’ll only get underfoot here. And --  _ Rey, don’t you dare touch that chocolate _ !” She came back to the group, empty-handed and very guilty. Leia watched all of this with growing amusement. “You’re all banned,” Ben went on, gesturing expansively. “Come back at seven. Except for you,” he added, pointing at Rey, who immediately made an extremely over-exaggerated hurt face. “ _ You _ I will pick up at seven.” She smiled.

“Oooh,” said Finn teasingly. “Will you pick me up too, Ben?” Rey slapped his shoulder.

“No,” he said seriously. “Now go. If I see you back here I’m throwing you in the fish pond.” As they retreated, Ben turned back to his mother.

“The daylilies are absolutely not going to work,” he said, still riding that authority high.

She shook her head with lips pursed and he immediately deflated.

“They absolutely  _ will  _ work,” she insisted. “As soon as you abandon the vampire prom aesthetic! Poe was right; this is  _ exactly  _ the kind of thing you would have planned in high school.”

“Oh my God, can we  _ please  _ not talk about high school?” Ben pleaded. “Mistakes were made. We all know this. It’s time to move on.”

Leia’s expression suddenly became calculating. “I keep the daylilies,” she said slowly. “Or I bring some of your school photographs to show Rey.”

“I burned those photographs,” Ben hissed confidently.

“You missed some,” Leia replied evilly.

Yes, today he would do two things that a few months ago he would have thought totally impossible: but he was only going to make it through to the part with Rey (the  _ good  _ part) if hosting this gala with his mother didn’t kill him first.

He was doubtful.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had to slip the My Chemical Romance reference in there, considering I've written 95% of this fic while listening to my MCR Pandora station.


	39. Chapter 39

At six, there was a knock on the door. Rey opened it, puzzled, to see Hux and Phasma standing there expectantly.

“What are you doing here?” she asked with uncertainty.

Hux sighed. “Did you  _ really  _ think we were going to let you dress yourself?” he asked with a long-suffering pout.

“I know how to put clothes on,” Rey protested indignantly.

“And what was your plan with your hair?” Hux asked. 

“Uh,” said Rey, looking from one to the other. “I was gonna brush it…”

“Move aside,” said Hux, waving her out of the doorway. “ _ Clearly  _ we have work to do.”

* * *

 

Finn just about fell over laughing when he came back into the room to find Rey sitting stiffly with Phasma holding a curling iron in place under strict directions from Hux, while the man himself was applying eyeshadow to Rey’s face with practiced efficiency. Hux glared at Finn’s outburst.

“Fifteen. Proms,” he reminded everybody darkly.

But Finn’s laughter abruptly ceased when Rey turned to look at him disapprovingly.

“Damn, Rey,” he said in disbelief. “You look…” He paused, watching her smile radiantly at him. “Like a  _ girl _ .”

“Thanks, bud,” Rey chuckled sarcastically, only to earn herself a whisper-shouted “Don’t move!” from Hux. She froze apologetically, looking thoroughly chastised.

“What are  _ you _ wearing tonight?” Hux asked Finn. 

Finn looked down at himself, then back up at Hux. “This,” he said, clearly suspicious of the other man’s intentions.

Hux groaned. “You are  _ not  _ wearing jeans,” he said.

“They’re black jeans!” Finn protested. “That’s fancy!”

“It is not the 90s anymore,” Hux reminded him. “And that’s a t-shirt,” he added, pointing at Finn’s gray tee.

“It’s got no writing on it,” Finn said defensively. 

“Which does  _ not  _ make it formal wear.”

“Does too!”

Hux pinched the bridge of his nose as if unsuccessfully staving off a migraine. He took the curling iron from Phasma. “Go and borrow a pair of Dameron’s slacks,” he ordered her. “They look about the same size. And get one of our uniform button-downs to put over that shirt.”

“I am not wearing a First Order uniform,” Finn continued to protest but was emphatically ignored. Rey shook her head at him, despite Hux’s grim warnings about moving.

“Shouldn’t have come in here,” she told him gravely.

* * *

 

Hux and Phasma left at about fifteen minutes till seven, with final instructions not to touch her face or hair under any circumstances. Finn pouted about it but did finally put on his new outfit, and even he had to admit that he looked pretty good. He also departed, mumbling something about having to cover up the First Order logo on the button-down, or what would Leia  _ think _ .

And then Rey was alone with her thoughts and the butterflies in her stomach. She sat on her bed and tried valiantly not to touch her face. The dress fit perfectly but in a very unfamiliar fashion, and she kept fidgeting with it. It was black and satiny and tight in all the right places. She felt like Cinderella, and she kind of wanted to crawl back into her fireplace right about now.

He knocked on the door at precisely 7PM. She wondered if he’d been standing out there staring at his watch to achieve that. It kind of seemed like a Ben thing to do. Rey stood, walked to the door, and paused nervously before it. She raised a hand to adjust her hair before remembering that she wasn’t allowed, and quickly dropped her hand back to her side as if Hux might be watching, ready to scold her. 

She opened the door. Ben was dressed in the same black suit that he’d worn at the Resurgent -- or at least an identical one; men had it so  _ easy _ in the fancy dressing department. She’d thought he’d looked entirely too dapper then, but he was in a whole ‘nother league tonight. His tie was blood red, which was silly, but he was Ben Solo, and if anybody could pull it off, it was him.

“You didn’t have a tie with little horses on it?” she asked him playfully.

For a moment he said nothing, and she realized just how lost and transfixed his eyes were.

“You look amazing,” was all he managed eventually. “You clean up… well, you clean up  _ very _ nicely.”

Rey beamed, feeling her face flush deeply. “You have Hux to thank for that,” she admitted.

Ben looked bemused. “Every day,” he said slowly. “I find out more things that I didn’t need to know about that man.” He shook himself as if to clear an unwanted image from his head. “I would have gotten you flowers,” he continued casually, holding out his hand towards her in a gentlemanly fashion. “But I figured I could just grab a few roses from the wreath tomorrow when Kylo Ren wins the Derby.”

“Well, because you said  _ that _ ,” Rey retorted, playfully offended, taking his hand but not budging from the doorway, “you’re not getting  _ any _ of them when BB Eight wins.”

“Is that so?” he asked, with that infuriatingly sardonic smile. 

“It  _ is _ so,” Rey replied primly.

His hand tightened on her fingers as he smiled fondly at her. “Ready?” he asked.

In response she jumped from the doorway and threw her arms around his middle, hugging him tightly. She could feel him freeze in astonishment, before relaxing and putting his arms around her, placing one hand very delicately on her bare back. “What’s that for?” he asked after a moment. 

“This last month has been the best month of my life,” she said into his jacket.

“I don’t know if that’s my doing,” Ben replied uncertainly.

She looked up at him sternly, resting her chin on his chest. “Yes, it is,” she said decisively. “If you didn’t show up at Jakku Downs, we wouldn’t be here. Poe would have run BB Eight in the Oaks; he never dreamed of the Derby until she beat Kylo Ren.  I’d never have gotten to know Leia. And I’d never have met  _ you _ .”

“Well,” Ben said quietly, looking down into her eyes. “I’m glad I showed up, then.”

The moment hung heavy between them. He was so very close, but Rey could feel he had no intention of closing that gap, not after what had happened last time. He was leaving that up to her, forcing her to make the first move. Being stubborn about it was suddenly not nearly as pressing an issue as spending one more moment without him touching her.

Rey reached up for him and brought his lips down to hers.

It was not gentle, like the first time, when he’d held her like the reins of a spooky horse, cradled her waist like a fragile thing, like something that could fly away. Now, his kiss was strong and urgent, his hand coming up to hook across her jaw bone and tilt her chin up irresistibly. She could feel everything that had been pent up in him, everything he had kept bottled up and throttled down deep inside. His other hand knotted in her hair, keeping her pressed against him with a strength she could not counter. Not that she wanted to -- one of her arms had curled around his neck, holding his lips in place, and her other hand was on his back.

He kissed her forcefully, and when he drew back, he took her wrists in both his hands, looking down at her meaningfully through hooded eyes. She looked at where his large hands covered hers completely, then up at him questioningly.

“I’m not letting you get away again,” he said with a hoarse chuckle, and then he pulled her back in, keeping his lips hard on hers as he backed her into the wall and pinned her there. He shifted his attentions to her neck, kissing across the bare expanse of her shoulder almost reverently. Rey let her fingers stray through his hair, feeling almost delirious at how  _ right _ it felt to have him up against her.

“Rey,” Ben said into her hair, and she giggled. He pulled his head back, expression a little hurt, trying to understand why she was laughing. 

“I’ve been asking you to call me Rey for weeks,” she said. “But you only ever do it when you get done kissing me.”

“I have an easy solution to that,  _ Oxford _ ,” he practically purred, leaning in closer to her face.

She grimaced at the nickname. “What?”

“You just have to keep kissing me, and I’ll call you whatever you want.”

A man of his word, he kissed her again, gentler this time, slower, apparently no longer concerned that she would attempt to run away. She ran her hand lazily up his chest, feeling his own hand firm on her waist. He finally broke the kiss, presumably to breathe, though she found herself wishing that wasn’t a biological necessity right now.

“Ben,” she said. “We have to go downstairs.”

“ _ Fuck  _ that,” he replied without opening his eyes, focusing his mouth’s attention on her exposed collarbone. “Let’s stay here.”

“We have to,” she reminded him. “You missed the last one.”

He nudged her head to the side to nip at her pulse point, stubbornly ignoring her.

“What will your mother think?” Rey asked guilelessly.

“Probably ‘good for Ben,’” he responded.

“Hux will be very upset if he doesn’t get to see his masterpiece in action,” Rey went on.

Ben finally opened his eyes, to stare at her seriously. “If we go,” he said slowly, “will you stop talking about my mother and other men when I’m trying to kiss you?”

“Yes,” she agreed instantly.

He gave her a calculating look. “It’s just because of the chocolate fountain that you want to go so bad, isn’t it?” he asked.

“ _ Yes _ .”

* * *

 

Ben and Leia had ended up splitting the room down the middle and going ahead with their own design schemes. Half of the ballroom was decorated with tasteful pastel shades of orange and timeless white; the other was festooned with copious amounts of black, and red the color of Kentucky Derby roses. The end result was far from elegant, but at least there was no further squabbling. And it kind of worked, really, though neither of them was willing to admit it. It was clear which side belonged to Resistance Racing and which to the First Order Stud, and that was the point. 

Hux pounced on them immediately, as Rey gazed around the room in awe, taking it all in.

“What did you do?” Hux asked accusingly. “You touched your face, didn’t you?”

“ _ I _ didn’t,” Rey protested, with a sideways look at Ben. Hux rolled his eyes at them.

“Come on,” he said. “I’ll fix you up.” He led her away. Rey twisted around to mouth “sorry” at Ben who looked simply blind-sided by this intervention.

“Hux,” Rey whispered as they reached the bathroom. “This is the  _ ladies’ _ .”

He gave her an indignant glare. “Don’t be ridiculous. I’m not fixing your make-up in the _ men’s  _ room.” 

Rey didn’t know what to say to that.

“Honestly,” Hux grumbled. “I leave you alone for twenty minutes--”

“Hey,” Rey countered. “That’s on you.”

* * *

 

A few minutes later they left the restroom, and Ben, seeing where they emerged from, looked absolutely horrified. Hux marched straight up to his employer, towing Rey by her wrist. “You’re welcome,” Hux said primly to Ben, leaving Rey standing there as he turned and stalked away.

They stared at each other for a moment. “He has six sisters,” Rey explained lamely.

“He is a man of many mysteries,” Ben agreed. “Come on,” he said, putting his arm around her possessively. “I want to show you off.”

“What about the chocolate--”

“We will get to the chocolate fountain, I promise.”


	40. Chapter 40

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We are earning our Mature rating today. Hide the children :)

Show her off he did, and Rey found herself amazed at how natural this foreign environment could feel, so long as she was next to him. She was introduced to senators, many of whom were old friends of Leia’s and had known Ben since he was a baby -- she listened  _ very _ politely to a passel of software developers that Ben had gotten into the game in his former life, even though every other word out of their mouths was technical and  incomprehensible -- and she shook hands with racetrack, and, in the case of a sheikh who was attending,  _ actual _ royalty. It was amazing how easily they all accepted her as belonging here; nobody popped up to shout that she was really only a barnrat, that she was nobody in a fancy dress, trying to pull a fast one on them all.

She had one slight moment of panic right after they had made their initial rounds, when Ben vanished momentarily onto reappear with full champagne flutes for the both of them. She looked at him in horror, trying to remember what the twelve steps were based off what she had seen in movies so that they could have an impromptu intervention. He just laughed and said: “Trust me.”

She did. It was ginger ale. He chuckled at her frown. “Figured you wouldn’t want to be hungover in the morning,” he said. “Bit of an important day.”

She agreed, and sipped her ginger ale in the poshest manner she could manage.

“What are you doing with your hand?” he asked her after a moment of confusion.

“You’re supposed to stick your pinkie out,” she explained patiently. “It’s fancy.”

“You all have very interesting definitions of the word  _ fancy _ ,” he sighed.

They continued to circulate, Rey continually amazed at how at  _ ease _ Ben was here. Based on the Ben she’d gotten to know, she would have expected him to be awkward and nervous, stammering instead of speaking as smoothly as he did, anxious to bolt instead of apparently content to hobnob into the early morning hours. It was a mask, she realized: something he’d learned to don from a very young age, something to hide behind. 

Leia looked positively radiant, dressed in white and silver, and she broke off from a group of party-goers to flag Ben and Rey down. She was truly in her element; there was no mask there. Leia Organa had never needed to fake charisma -- she positively oozed with it. As the pair approached, Leia suddenly gave them a  _ very  _ calculating look, and Rey knew immediately that she knew if not  _ exactly  _ what had transpired earlier in the evening, then she’d grasped at least a general approximation.

“You look lovely, Rey,” she said kindly, touching the younger woman’s shoulder in a motherly fashion. “But you’re wearing the wrong colors,” she added conspiratorially, slipping something small and sharp into Rey’s hands. Rey looked down at it -- it was a lapel pin of the Resistance Racing logo, the  _ fleur de lis _ \- like symbol in burnt orange. Rey grinned and pinned it to her dress triumphantly.

“Are you going to hand those out to  _ everyone  _ here?” Ben asked his mother longsufferingly.

“Yes,” Leia replied brightly. “I have  _ thousands _ .”

“I’ll take three,” said Han, coming up to stand next to Leia. He was wearing a very old-fashioned tuxedo that smelled of mothballs; Ben whispered to Rey later that he was reasonably certain it was the same one he’d married Leia in. Leia beamed and made a great show of pinning them to his tie. Ben made a sad face to let them all know how very ganged-up-upon he felt, but Rey only laughed at him.

They found Finn after that, and he was certainly enjoying himself. He’d covered the First Order logo on his breast-pocket of his borrowed shirt with a large white nametag that read: “Hello! My name is…” and then in neat hand-written block letters: “FINN.” Rey stared at it uncertainly. 

“Were we supposed to wear nametags?” she asked nervously. “I didn’t get one.”

“It’s a fashion statement,” said Finn casually. He had wasted no time, and was already balancing a plate in each hand absolutely loaded with food. “Hold this,” he said unceremoniously to Rey, shoving one of the plates into her hands so that he could eat off the other one. She glared at him, snatching the fork out of his grasp so that she could sample the contents of the plate she was holding. They passed the fork back and forth amiably after that, at first out of necessity and then out of a desire to irritate Ben, who watched them with disbelief for a moment before going and getting a second fork, which was roundly rejected.

“I can’t take the two of you anywhere,” he said ruefully.

Finn and Rey went to get more food in preparation for their planned assault on the chocolate tower -- that much sugar is never good on an empty stomach -- and were waylaid by Phasma, who was wearing an incredibly shiny silver dress that kind of made her look like a very tall and well-dressed robot. She was already reasonably drunk but seemed to be having an excellent time. She spent a few minutes pointing out who she felt were the most eligible bachelors at the party to Rey, and when Rey protested that she already had a date, Phasma instead starting to point out the most eligible bachelorettes to Finn, who listened intently. “Not all of us have $800 million dollars sewn up like you do,” he told her haughtily when she made fun of him later. The last Rey saw of Phasma, she was dragging an equally intoxicated Hux out onto the dance floor by his black tie, as he protested loudly all the while.

Rey hadn’t been so sure about it, but she was finding that she rather enjoyed this sort of party.

And then of course there was the chocolate. Did she really need to say anything more about that?

“Do you want me to leave the two of you alone?” Ben joked.

“Would you?” she asked eagerly.

* * *

 

The party was winding down at last; people were trickling out and those who remained were subdued, weighed down with food and drink. Han and Leia were slow-dancing alone on the dance floor, her head resting lightly on his chest.

Rey looked at Ben and grinned. “We parent trapped them,” she said proudly.

He sighed heavily. But he smiled. “Come on,” he said, touching her hand. “I’ll walk you to your room.”

“Are you sure? It’s pretty far out of your way,” Rey ribbed him. “Considering yours is next door.”

He shrugged. “What wouldn’t I do for you,” he mused playfully.

They got into one of the glass elevators, which Rey was still convinced were a wonder of the world, and leaned against the back wall companionably.

“Ben,” said Rey as they ascended.

“Yes?”

“I don’t want to go to my room.” He’d left her the out, like a gentleman, but she didn’t have the slightest interest in taking it.

He paused for a moment, before leaning over with a stupid grin on his face to kiss her again, slowly and gently. She waited until he pulled back, until the absolute worst moment as he stood over her with his lips inches from hers, their breaths commingling and fogging the glass.

“ _ Because Finn might have brought a girl back, _ ” she whispered into his ear.

Ben groaned pitiably, pressing his forehead against hers. “What have I said about talking about other men while I’m trying to kiss you?” he asked.

“You love it,” Rey replied guilelessly, but he was not above kissing her to shut her up, and this was his tactic now. It had started out slow and gentle, but by the time the elevator chimed he had her pinned against the glass and breathing almost as hard as he was. He didn’t seem to care at all about the fact that the doors had opened, but Rey pushed him out of the elevator before they had a chance to shut again. 

Somehow they got the door to his room open -- Rey was never quite sure how, afterwards. Sheer force of will, probably. But somehow they got through the door in the end and he pressed her up against the living room wall. His hands, which had been so decorous all evening, were now all over her. His touch felt white-hot, as his hands slid up her sides to ghost over her breasts, tender and demanding all at once. She worked his shirt loose from his pants so that she could run her hands up under it, grazing his bare back with her fingernails. He groaned into her mouth as her fingers found his bare skin -- she felt heat pool between her legs at the sound.

There was a gleam in his eyes, and she realized what he was about to do just before he could manage it.

“No!” she said.

He looked at her, very guiltily, knowing he had been caught.

“You are  _ not  _ ripping this dress,” she told him sternly.

“ I wanted to rip this dress off you the moment I saw you in it,” he growled into her ear, and his voice made her want to melt, but she stood firm.

“There’s a zipper in the back,” she instructed him. “Find it.”

It was a very small zipper, and he had very large hands, and they had to turn the lamp on to find it, but find it they did.

Rey shimmied out of the dress, and felt suddenly very cold and very, very self-conscious, but it only took one look at Ben to banish that feeling, because he was staring at her like he was a creature of darkness and she was the only light remaining in the universe. In one swift motion he scooped her up into his arms, bridal style, carrying her into his bedroom as casually as if she weighed nothing. He dropped her on the bed, stripped off his shirt as quickly as humanly possible, then crawled back on top of her, sealing his lips back to hers as if he couldn’t bear the short time they’d been parted.

He was heavy, even with him propping his weight considerately on his elbows, but Rey welcomed every inch of him touching her, not caring about the pressure. She was  _ much  _ too busy exploring the newly revealed contours of his chest and abs to care. He slid a hand behind her back -- and had her bra unlatched before she even realized what he was doing.

“You’re way too good at that,” she told him as he languidly kissed his way down to her breasts.

He chuckled against her skin, his breath hot and tantalizing. “Han used to make me practice,” he explained.

“No,” said Rey in disbelief.

“Said there were certain skills every young man had to learn,” Ben said, looking up at her, eyes crinkled with mirth. His deep voice vibrated deliciously against her skin and she found she really didn’t care to puzzle out whether or not he was lying -- not right now, at least.

He went back to his slow and enticing study of her body, and she could feel the hard length of him pressing against her leg. Smiling wickedly, she reached down to cup him through his pants, and he practically choked at her touch, his muscles contracting involuntarily.

“Careful,” he groaned into her hair. “I’ve wanted this for too long-- wanted  _ you  _ for too long--”

So of course she did it again -- she didn’t think she’d ever tire of hearing that gravelly moan against her ear.

Turnabout was fair play, of course, and he had his hand down her panties in an instant and shortly she felt just as desperate and out-of-control as he did, making similar noises as those clever long fingers did their work down below. He brought her to her peak easily, grinning smugly the entire time, and she would have slapped him if she wasn’t momentarily paralyzed by what he was doing to her, and as she came he kissed her with bruising force, swallowing her moans as if they belonged to him.

Her heart was still beating erratically as she reached for the fastenings on his pants, and he took pity on her after a moment and helped her get them undone, obviously as needy as she was. When she got her hands on him for the first time, freed of inconvenient clothing, she thought for a moment that he was going to come undone then and there, with the strangled noise that he made. He felt hot and hard and  _ perfect _ in her hands as she guided him to where she needed him.

Rey felt his entire body shudder as he slipped inside her, a low groan in the form of her name escaping his mouth like a prayer. He was  _ large _ , and the sensation of him pressing inside, filling her completely, left her speechless. He buried his face in her hair, his mouth locked onto her shoulder, giving her a moment to get used to him before he began to move.

And she wouldn’t have guessed that anything could be better, but he seemed determined each and every moment to prove her wrong about the last one. He set a frenzied pace, letting all his want and desperation of the last few weeks spill out of him as he plunged into her, framing her face with his hands and kissing her jaw distractedly. He dropped one hand to where they were joined, giving her pressure exactly where she needed it, and she felt herself begin to fall apart again.

When she went over the edge she brought him with her, and he collapsed on top of her, shaking, slick with their shared sweat, neither able to do anything for the moment except pant and cling to one another. Gradually they regained their breath, and he shifted his weight off of her, rolling to the side and dragging her back against him, seemingly determined not to allow a single inch of her to not be touching him. He locked his arms around her, pressing kisses to her shoulder, her neck, her lips as she twisted her head around to meet him.

“Worth the wait?” she asked him sleepily, and he buried his face in her back with a groan.

“Rey,” he said, and she didn’t ever want him to stop saying her name like that, like it was precious, like it was  _ holy _ , like it was the spell that bound them together. “It’d be worth  _ anything _ .”


	41. Chapter 41

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So here's the deal: my lovely mother (who is a big fan of this story; hi Mom!) is coming to visit me this weekend, so it is likely I will not be updating Saturday or Sunday. I will be back in full force Monday, so hang in there. 
> 
> You all are so fantastic and say such kind things. You are a joy to write for!

The morning sun slipping between the blinds woke Ben Solo on the morning of the Kentucky Derby. He groaned deep in his throat as he resisted the urge to pull the covers over his head to block out the light. He had no intention of moving for a while yet -- Rey was snuggled up against him like he was the best pillow she’d ever had, and there was very little he wouldn’t have done to avoid disturbing her.

Ben was glad she was still here -- he might have had trouble believing the events of the previous night had actually happened if the evidence wasn’t blissfully asleep in his arms. He’d known from the moment he’d seen her in that dress -- man, he really owed Hux a beer for that one -- that this would be the night that everything changed.

The Kentucky Derby was today. He could barely summon the will to care.

Rey stirred against him, on the verge of consciousness, and he let one of his hands slip down the lines of her body, ghosting over the curve of her hip, relishing in how she felt under his fingers. She cracked her eyes open lazily.

“Good morning,” she murmured, tilting her face up to kiss him on the chin.

He answered by pressing his face into her neck, stretching the sleep from his back at the same time. He pulled her tightly against him, letting her feel the predictable results of waking up in the embrace of a beautiful woman. Her sharp intake of breath in response made him feel almost woozy with desire.

Ben locked his lower arm around her neck, bracing her forcefully against him, and let his other hand roam south. She quivered against his grip, unable to suppress a breathy little moan as his fingers found their target. He pressed his lips into her neck, feeling her pulse beating wildly under his tongue, letting her feel his smug smile against her skin. She retaliated by grinding her hips back into him, and he almost choked.

She was entirely _too good_ at making him feel this way.

Rey gasped again as his fingers hit a particularly good spot, and it was suddenly _not enough_ , and in one swift motion he removed his fingers, flipped her onto her stomach, and pressed himself inside. She turned her head to the side so that he could see her face in profile, eyes clenched with sensation, mouth moving soundlessly with every motion.

As they rocked slowly together, a sedate, sensuous pace nothing like the frenzied rhythm of the night before, he watched her face intently, relishing in every little expression. He didn’t think he would ever get enough of watching her.

They crested together, Rey with her face buried in the pillow, muffling her moans, Ben with his teeth in the smooth muscles of her shoulder, fully aware of the marks he was leaving. Afterwards, he pulled her back into his chest and she snuggled her head against him once again.

“Good morning,” he rumbled.

“ _Derby_ morning,” she agreed, smiling up at him. “We should probably go to the track,” she said.

He took one of the pillows and put it over his face. “No,” he said faintly from underneath. “Let’s just stay here.”

“You just don’t want to watch your horse get beat,” she teased him mercilessly, attempting to extricate herself from his arms. He didn’t make it easy for her. She got away at last, and he lifted the edge of the pillow up so that he could watch her getting out of bed.

“Shut your eyes, pervert,” she said happily, but he had no intention of obeying her.

She sashayed into the bathroom, knowing perfectly well that he was watching, and after a moment he heard the shower running.

God, she wasn’t above using dirty tricks to get a man out of bed, was she?

* * *

 

Being in the shower turned out to be _even better_ than watching her surreptitiously from bed, because the lights were bright and the water made her skin shine and he never wanted to take his hands off her again, even if it was just to soap her up.

She apparently found it deeply hilarious to cover his chest with suds and style his body hair into swirls and spikes, pausing only to giggle at her handiwork. He retaliated by hogging the hot water, which was easy given he had more than half a foot of height on her.

“What’s this?” she asked when he eventually let her back in the stream, holding up a bottle and looking at the back of it inquisitively.

“It’s conditioner,” Ben replied, taking it from her and squeezing some into his hand, before pulling her towards him and beginning to work it into her hair. “You could have really beautiful hair if you took care of it,” he said as he worked.

“Mmm,” she said, clearly enjoying the impromptu scalp massage. “It would be entirely unfair to the world if we _both_ had such beautiful hair.”

“Entirely unfair,” Ben agreed.

There was a certain point -- usually about when the pruning started in earnest -- when showering together was no longer sexy, and with reluctance a very clean Ben and Rey eventually emerged from the steam.

Rey wrung her hair out the best she could, and then wrapped a towel around herself neatly and started towards the door.

“What are you doing?” Ben asked.

She turned and looked at him skeptically. “Going next door to get my clothes,” she said.

“In _that_?”

“What, am I supposed to put the dress on again?”

“ _Yes._ Or something.”

She smirked. “It’s not like it covers _that_ much more,” she said. “Relax. It’s _Finn_.”

He frowned. He knew he was being silly, but it was hard to help.

“Ben, he’s basically my brother. Besides, he might not even be there. Probably left already.”

She was wrong, and Finn was so damn _smug_ about it she wanted to slap him, but she needed her hand to hold the towel up.

“Walk of sha-a-ame,” Finn sang indolently as she entered the room. He was flopped out starfish style on his bed, watching the morning news with little interest.

“Shut it,” Rey replied.

“You don’t _mean_ that,” Finn said reproachfully.

“No,” Rey agreed. “I don’t. I’m sorry.” He nodded sagely. Rey grabbed her duffel bag and tried to make a hasty exit, but Finn was having none of it.

“Oh no, you don’t,” he said indignantly. “I want _details_.”

“You’re not getting them,” Rey replied.

“Fine,” Finn sighed. “Then I want a ride to the track. Poe left without me.”

Rey quirked an eyebrow at him, confused. “Why would he do that?”

“I told him to,” Finn said matter-of-factly. “I had to wait around to _shame_ you.”

Rey glared. “Are you _blackmailing_ us for a ride?”

“Yes.”

“Okay,” Rey sighed.

* * *

 

Finn was incredibly annoying for the entire ride over, bouncing around the back seat like a sugar-crazed child, asking probing questions about their specific wedding plans and how many plus one’s he was going to get. Rey knew exactly how to deal with him in this mood, and simply started answering his questions in the most deadpan tone she could manage, even as the imagined wedding got more and more ridiculous.

“Is there going to be a petting zoo?” Finn asked.

“Yes, right next to the three ring circus,” Rey said patiently. “Across the way from the rollercoaster.”

“Wait, is this a wedding or a county fair?” Ben asked.

“Well, the _theme_ is county fair,” Rey explained matter-of-factly.

“Do I get any input on this?” Ben wondered.

“Apparently not,” Rey replied primly.

“Are there going to be gift bags?” Finn asked next.

“Yes, with puppies in them,” Rey invented quickly.

“Do I get to pick the breed of puppy?” Fin inquired.

“No, it’s random. Sorry. You get what you get. And _no trades_.”

* * *

 

They arrived at the track before Finn and Rey could finish planning the honeymoon -- New Zealand, Siberia, with a quick stop on Mars, apparently -- and drove promptly into a dizzying hive of activity. The stakes barn was abuzz with trainers, stable-hands, owners, media, and assorted hangers-on. It was Derby day. It was pandemonium.

If Poe had any idea of what had gone on last night, he graciously gave no sign. Instead he doled out orders -- Ben was to run interference with the media, keeping them away from the horses so as not the stress the animals, Finn, Rey, and Mitaka were responsible for giving through baths and grooming sessions to all four horses, Poe and Phasma would oversee, organize, and work to keep everybody calm. (Hux was passed out again in a lawn chair in the tack-room as he recovered from his hangover..)

It was Derby day. It was pandemonium.

It had all come down to this.


	42. Chapter 42

Rey had just returned Chewbacca to his stall after yet another trot down the shedrow for Ben to demonstrate his motion capture software to a gaggle of wide-eyed reporters when Leia arrived. It was T minus three hours, which in normal person time was 2PM. Leia stroked Chewbacca’s nose as he regarded her mournfully, as if he was telling her all about this latest indignity.

“Walk with me, kid,” Leia said casually to Rey as she slipped the halter off Chewbacca’s head.

Okay. So this was it. Leia  _ knew _ \-- because of course she did; she apparently knew everything -- and now Rey was getting fired for real. Ben saw the pair of them departing and instantly looked nervous; he made a move like he was going to join them and Rey waved him away as discreetly as she could manage.

“I’m not getting any younger, you know,” Leia said without preamble, and it was so far from what Rey was expecting that she was momentarily speechless. “I’m thinking it’s time to start looking for somebody to take over Resistance Racing.”

“You want to get out of the game?” Rey asked, stunned and confused.

Leia shook her head emphatically. “No,” she said. “I’d just like to get somebody to handle the day-to-day operations. To do all the heavy lifting so all I have to do is show up in the winner’s circle,” she clarified. She gave Rey an appraising look. “Somebody I could train from the ground up,” she went on. “No bad habits.”

It began to dawn on Rey what she was implying. “Are you offering me a job?” she asked excitedly.

Leia squinted at her calculatingly. “I’m thinking about it,” she replied. “You’re a special kid. Smart, savvy -- and you got the horse bug in you.”

For a moment, Rey let herself dream, but she quickly felt her smile fade. “If you were, I’d be flattered,” she said, a bit sadly. “But I can’t leave Poe. He’s done too much for me. I can’t leave him in the lurch.”

“Oh, I’d keep you with Poe for a few years yet,” Leia said lightly. Rey felt her heart stutter in her chest. “You need to learn the racing side of the game inside and out. I’d have you spend a few foaling seasons on the farm, too, go to some yearling sales with me.” 

Rey didn’t know what to say. It sounded like heaven. It sounded like home.

“Learn every angle,” Leia went on expansively. “Who knows.” She shrugged.. “Do a good enough job and maybe someday this will all be yours.”

Rey looked at the older woman sharply.

“I won’t be around forever,” Leia said gently. “I don’t want what I’ve built to crumble.” She was silent for a moment, staring apparently into empty space. “They say the game is dying,” Leia said at last, wistfully. “Well, the old names are dying out, and there aren’t enough new ones to replace them. The grandchildren aren’t interested, don’t have the time or money, and the legacy of generations vanishes, the horses dispersed, the silks never worn again. I won’t let that happen to Resistance Racing,” she finished passionately.

“But… why wouldn’t you leave it to Ben?” Rey asked quietly.

Leia sighed. “He has his own barn,” she said. “What does he need another one for? Besides, he’d put my horses in black.” She paused, her eyes fierce. “ _ Never _ put my horses in black, Rey.”

“I wouldn’t,” Rey said quickly. She paused. “I  _ won’t _ .”

Leia smiled. “You interested then?”

“I’m  _ thinking  _ about it,” Rey replied.

Leia looked immensely pleased. “Anyways, it might not matter in the end,” she said offhandedly, a mischievous gleam suddenly evident in her eyes. “Whether it goes to you or Ben--”

Rey froze, panicked, but Leia only laughed.

“I’m happy for you,” Leia said reassuringly. “Not sure he deserves you, yet, but… happy.”

* * *

 

When it came time to walk BB Eight over to the paddock, Rey found herself eerily calm. It was as though she had passed some threshold of anxiety and circled back around to zero. She wasn’t fired; in fact, she apparently had a new job; she was  _ fucking Ben Solo _ and nobody really seemed to care; and it was only the Kentucky Derby today, after all.

The walk-over was one of the more surreal experiences that Rey had ever had. She had done this walk a hundred times at least -- alone, usually, just her and the horse; with Finn, occasionally, if it was a big race; and a couple of times with Ben, back when he had still thought that he needed to hire her in order to talk to her.

This was an entirely different can of worms. Everyone with even the slightest connection to one of the Derby horses was here, dressed to the nines, trudging in heels and Italian leather through the calf-deep loam of the track, a practical mob parading the half mile from the barns to the paddock. It was ridiculous. It was ostentatious. It was so  _ Kentucky Derby  _ she almost burst out laughing.

Finn leaned down to look at her from under BB Eight’s neck as they walked on either side of her. “They’re going to have to plow the track after this,” he joked. “From all the traffic.”

“Won’t be rated fast by the time this mob gets done trampling it,” Rey agreed.

BB Eight was behaving perfectly despite the hubbub, jogging almost in place with excitement, though she didn’t pull or shy at the activity swirling around her. Kylo Ren, however, was not enjoying himself, and Phasma kept having to shoo clueless hangers-on away from his hind end as he snorted and wheeled. The last thing anybody needed was some idiot owner getting kicked in the head by the favorite, but that didn’t seem to be stopping people from trying.

Ben appeared at Rey’s elbow. She looked at him askance. “You’re not going to walk with your own horse?” she asked.

“He’s not very nice,” Ben explained. “Yours is friendlier. And the company is much preferable.” His tone was light and he walked as confidently as if he hadn’t a care in the world.

“How are you not freaking out right now?” Rey asked, almost jealous of his cool demeanor. She could use a little of that right now.

“I don’t particularly care who wins anymore,” he said smoothly, smiling at her.

She heard Finn giggling on the other side of the horse.

“Shut it,” she snapped at him.

* * *

 

The paddock was equally crowded, teeming with well-dressed connections and more horses than Rey thought could possibly fit. The cameras were everywhere, capturing the swirl of bright colors and absurd hats. Onlookers crowded the rail, packed like sardines in an attempt to get even a glimpse of the competitors.

Rey focused herself entirely on keeping BB Eight happy and calm. It was easy to tune out the pandemonium, to direct all her senses towards her charge. She was distantly aware of Ben breaking off, presumably to go talk to his trainer about his own horse. Once, twice, three times they circled the paddock, cameras flashing, the crowd clamoring. BB Eight was cool and composed -- a consummate professional. Then they were in the saddling stall, and Poe was strapping the racing saddle onto BB’s back and giving last instructions to the jockey, and Leia was there to give the filly a final pat, and then before Rey would really register what was happening the call went out for jockey’s up and she was handing BB Eight off to the pony-girl on Chewbacca --

And all at once she was standing with an empty halter in the gravel of the horse-path as the pastel-hued crowd flowed rapidly out of the paddock to find their seats. 

She felt frozen; her nerves surged and suddenly all she wanted to do was hide her eyes until the race was over, until they’d all come home safe.  _ Let them all come home safe _ .

And then there was a hand on each of her shoulders, and Finn was there on her right, and Ben on her left, both looking at her with concern; and she hugged Finn and took Ben’s hand and without a word they went to sit.

* * *

 

Ben had managed to get them all seats in the grandstand, and Rey didn’t want to know how -- she would have suspected that he’d bought the damn racetrack, too, but that would have been big news and she hadn’t heard about it, so he probably hadn’t had to resort to that. Leia smiled at Rey warmly and grabbed her other hand to squeeze it reassuringly. Poe and Finn were leaning over Hux, who was sitting in between them and glaring, to talk loudly about how the contenders were warming up. Phasma had procured a funnel cake and was completely ignoring everybody else in favor of it. Han was proudly showing off his betting slip to Ben, who protested in disbelief. 

“You  _ never  _ bet,” said Ben.

“Just a hunch,” Han replied with a twinkle in his eyes. The slip of paper said, in blocky dot-matrix style, #9 to win. “He’s pretty chalky,” Han continued, referring to the fact that Kylo Ren was the heavy favorite and wouldn’t pay much if he won. “But you always bet on a sure thing, son. Always.”

* * *

 

There is something that old cowboys say: that you only ever really get one horse. It doesn’t matter how many you own, or ride, or train, or love. There is only one that is  _ yours _ , one that is  _ special _ , one in your whole lifetime and never again. One horse that changes you, that owns you as much as you own him -- that sets you on your way to becoming who you were always meant to be. That teaches you something you were too stubborn to learn on your own.

Leia’s was BB Eight, the filly that put her on a collision course with her son, that precipitated the events that would define her life: the horse that saved her family, and didn’t have the slightest clue what she had set in motion.

Rey’s was Amidala, though she didn’t know it yet, wouldn’t know it for a while -- years later, when she gets on Amidala for the first time and  _ rides _ , and finds that the rhythm underneath her is the one she has heard in her dreams all her life: then, she will know. (They will be inseparable, she and her silver filly; they will have their happy days. There will be no bittersweet end to their story.)

Poe’s is yet to come, hasn’t been born yet, hasn’t even been thought of, a bright spot in a cloudy future that he’s rushing towards with all the unbridled recklessness and enthusiasm that has ever defined him --

And Ben had finally come to realize that his had been beside him his whole life -- because his horse was Alderaan, his bright twin, his counterpart on four legs. His brother, his rival. He cannot feel any jealousy toward him, not anymore. They are the same, two of a kind. 

Kylo Ren, of course, belonged to nobody but himself -- a spirit that would never be broken, fire and fight that would never be tamed, a horse who would walk alone into history.

He strutted out onto the track, pausing only to toss out a casual buck -- he couldn’t help it; it was expected of him, after all. But in his eyes was a steely professionalism, a fierce competitiveness. He was a racehorse. This was a racetrack. He knew what his job was.

He was unexplained variance. He was chaos incarnate. He was greater than the sum of his parts -- which made him kind of  _ magic _ , at least to Ben.

And his bright twin, his opposite and rival, the filly that had dethroned him, warmed up neatly, calm and under control. But there was fierceness in her, also -- a flame contained burns just as hot as one that flares up unexpectedly.

Their human connections had planned this all so meticulously, had controlled every aspect of their lives leading up to this. But this was the point at which the humans had to let go. When those gates opened, it would all be up to to the horses. They would be the ones who wrote history, even if they would never be able to  _ read  _ it.

“Here we go again,” Ben said.


	43. Chapter 43

The field for the Kentucky Derby paraded before the grandstand, cantered towards the gates, circled and spun before loading. It seemed to Rey that it took several eternities. She chewed on her lip with anxiety, gripping Ben’s hand so tightly that he complained. They began to be loaded at what felt like a glacial pace. But it happened like it always did -- one moment the loading was beginning, the next the last horse was vanishing into his assigned stall, faster than you ever thought possible. 

They were in the gate. The wait was over. A moment of stillness, of silence, of a held breath --

The bell rang, the gates flung open, the horses sprang out, and a collective gasp arose from the crowd as Kylo Ren stumbled to his knees as the others took their first leaping strides. “The favorite to his knees at the start!” the race-caller shouted. For a sickening moment Rey thought he would lose his jockey -- which meant immediate disqualification, not to mention the extremely dangerous situation of having a loose horse on the track during a race. But the jockey clung on with almost super-human strength, and as Kylo Ren by sheer force of will bounced back to his feet the rider managed to find his stirrup irons again, and he urged the colt after the field that was already lengths ahead.

“Christ,” Ben cursed softly, transfixed, and Rey squeezed his hand again tightly.

BB Eight, conversely, came out flying and her jockey hustled her to the lead immediately. Rey gaped at the riskiness of the strategy. Horses can win going wire to wire -- staying in front from the break to the finish -- but it requires a slow pace in the early fractions and no other speed in the race. As soon as another horse comes forward to duel for the lead, speeding up the pace, the race is lost, since the leaders will tire and one of the closers will come from behind and win it. On the other hand, for a horse like Kylo Ren who liked to come flying late, a quick opening quarter was ideal, ensuring that the frontrunners would slow down towards the end and he could pick them off easily. The dream scenario for BB Eight -- the lone leader, a slow opening pace -- was the doomsday situation for Kylo Ren, who would be too far back to catch up with a leader with gas still in the tank.

But BB Eight went to the lead, and no one came forward to challenge her. She led the cavalry charge around the first turn, posting a leisurely split of :24 and two fifths seconds for the first quarter.  _ Perfect _ .

“She’s going to walk away with it,” Ben said in horror.

Rey grinned. It was a slightly woozy grin -- she felt frozen with anxiety. But her filly was in front, and it was all setting up exactly right. She choked down her nerves and tried to keep her eyes from squeezing shut involuntarily.

The rest of the field chased the bright chestnut into the backstretch. She was an easy two lengths in front, running on a loose rein. Kylo Ren, far in the back, was not fighting his jockey for once -- the stumble out of the gate seemed to have rattled him badly. Ben could imagine he looked almost dazed.

They swept into the far turn, BB Eight still setting a modest pace, and it was there, as they were exiting the turn, that her jockey asked her for real speed with a tap of the whip. She sprang ahead, suddenly opening up several more lengths on the rest of the field with her usual breathtaking acceleration, making it look effortless.

She looked unbeatable. The lead was too great. Nobody was catching her now.

Rey felt Ben’s grip tighten on her fingers. She tore her eyes off the chestnut, looking back to see what he was staring at -- Rey gasped.

Kylo Ren, against all odds, was making his move. From dead last, he had exploded on the far turn, surging past horses like they were standing still, picking them off one by one. With every jump he was gaining, flying by horses. At the quarter pole, he was in second, five lengths off BB Eight.

She was running the race of her life -- and the big black freight train was gaining with every step. He’d only just gotten rolling. Nothing would stand in his way.

Rey felt too paralyzed to cheer. She wasn’t sure she was even breathing.

Kylo Ren closed the gap between them almost impossibly fast. Rey couldn’t even imagine what his closing fractions would be -- probably far faster than the opening fractions of the race. Like Secretariat, he was running every furlong faster than the last. His head was at BB Eight’s tail; then her hip; then her shoulder; and finally they were eye-to-eye again, a carbon copy of the finish of the Resurgent Stakes.

But he did not gain any further.

BB Eight refused to yield. Kylo Ren refused to stop. The rest of the field spilled out behind them like a broken wave, too far back to matter anymore. It was only the colt and the filly, head to head, nostril to nostril, running in tandem as if they were yoked together, the unstoppable force meeting the immovable object and neither one backing down.

The crowd was a solid wall of noise, so loud it felt like a physical thing that vibrated against your chest and crushed your ear drums. Rey had never heard anything like it. She found herself still incapable of making a sound.

The colt and the filly hit the wire together, the photo finish flash went off, and nobody in the crowd that topped one hundred thousand people had even the slightest idea who had gotten in front. But the time flashing on the tote board was mind-boggling -- together, BB Eight and Kylo Ren had run the fastest Derby in nearly twenty years.

Ben and Rey stared at each other for a long moment, both speechless, both frozen.

One of them had just won the Kentucky Derby.

Neither of them particularly cared who.

Poe and Finn were hugging and jumping up and down at the same time. Leia was in tears, but they looked like happy tears, and Han was hesitantly wrapping his arms around her. Rey had time to mouth  _ national television, Ben _ before he had caught her up in arms, and, not giving the slightest damn about national television, dipped her low in a theatrical kiss. Her jumbled, frazzled mind only managed to think  _ Finn is never going to let me hear the end of this _ . And then they were all of them streaming down out of the stands, to the winner’s circle where half of them would need to be.

Rey and Ben stumbled onto the apron as another mighty noise rose from the crowd, half of them incensed, half of them ecstatic. The result was up. 

It was Kylo Ren, by the thinnest of whiskers. 

And Rey found she  _ truly, truly _ did not mind losing, by that margin, at that pace, to Ben’s horse, and she only hugged him and laughed as he stiffened in shock at the official result, at what it meant. She shoved him towards the gate to the winner’s circle, but he did not release her hand, tugging her along with him.

“I want you in the photo,” Ben said, close to her ear to be heard over the deafening din of the crowd. She let him pull her along, and Kylo Ren came cantering back to thunderous applause. The garland of roses was brought out, hundreds of flowers stitched into a heavy blanket, and it was heaved over Kylo Ren’s sleek black neck. Blood red on black -- First Order Stud colors. Ben couldn’t have planned it any better. Perhaps he had.

Phasma led Kylo Ren into the ring, and then they were all there, Ben and Rey next to Phasma at the horse’s head, Hux in his traditional position at his flank, Kylo Ren himself too tired and too proud of himself to protest the proximity.

The flash went off, and that was a photo that Rey would keep forever, would display for the rest of her life on the mantle next to the win photo from the Resurgent, because Rey considered those two days to be the beginning of her real life: the days she found the belonging she had always sought. She couldn’t imagine a better family portrait than this one in two parts: her and Leia and Finn and Poe, and her and Ben, and the horses that had brought them all together.

Ben deftly plucked a rose from the garland as Phasma led Kylo Ren away, and offered it to Rey with a grin that was more joyful than smug. “As promised,” he said, tucking it carefully behind her ear. 

Finn and Poe ran out onto the track to catch BB Eight, and Rey rushed to join them. BB Eight was streaming with sweat but trotted evenly to meet them, bowing her head agreeably for the halter to be slipped over her ears.

“I hope you packed some extra clothes,” Poe shouted to Rey. “Because it looks like our grand tour isn’t over yet.”

“Pimlico?” Rey and Finn asked in unison, thrilled.

“On to Baltimore and the Preakness,” Poe confirmed triumphantly. The Preakness was the second race in the Triple Crown series, and took place in just two weeks at the venerable Pimlico racetrack in Maryland.

Rey went to hook her lead to BB Eight’s other side, but Poe waved her away. “Stay with Leia,” he said. “I’m going with the filly.” 

Finn, Poe, and BB Eight departed, and Rey watched them go.

Of course, she would have liked for the filly to stay undefeated -- there was something poetic about that. But Zenyatta, arguably the best mare of the last century: she only lost once. An undefeated horse, well, it’s so easy for detractors to claim that they just never faced anybody who was any good, that it was luck. Zenyatta won the Breeder’s Cup Classic, first mare to ever do it. She beat everybody who was anybody that year. And the detractors said, Ah, well, it was a weak field. It was luck. So the owners brought her back the next year, to see if she could do it again. She faced the best older horse in the country. His name was Blame. They finished half a length apart. He won; she was second. First time in her whole career, in twenty starts, her first ever loss in her last ever start. It was a heart-breaker. There wasn’t a dry eye in the grandstand that day.

But it was  _ that loss  _ that proved what she really was. She wasn’t a fluke. She wasn’t just lucky. She was  _ good _ . She was a freak in every sense of the word, and at the racetrack,  _ freak _ is a compliment of the highest order.

Nobody tries to say she never faced anybody anymore. The exception proved the rule.

They tend to do that.

It was too premature to make any comparisons to Zenyatta -- but this filly,  _ her  _ filly, would go on to fight another day. 

The future was bright; it was bulletproof. It was waiting to be made.

* * *

 

Ben stepped up onto the stage where the governor of Kentucky was waiting to present the Kentucky Derby trophy. He paused for a moment, seeming to consider, before he turned back and leaned down, holding out his hand towards his mother.

Rey had never seen Leia smile so radiantly.

He pulled Leia up onto stage next to him, her tiny form dwarfed by his lanky frame. If anybody found it odd, nobody gave any sign. Hux and the jockey accepted their silver half-size replicas of the Derby trophy, and then it was Ben’s turn as owner. The governor said a few words that nobody would ever remember; Ben stammered something about what an honor it was and how special the horse was and how it was his staff that deserved all the praise. 

Then Ben grasped one handle of the massive gold trophy; Leia looked up at him and took the other; and together they hoisted it into the air in front of a roaring crowd, both grinning massively.

A great journey was beginning -- the Triple Crown trail had started, was winding its twisty way down from this very stage. This morning, twenty horses had a chance at the Crown -- now only one did. They would be in Maryland in a week, then New York a month after that. There would be challengers old and new. History would be written regardless of the outcome. 

Ben knew that he was setting out on the adventure of a lifetime, and felt nothing but joyful anticipation -- because he knew that he wasn’t going alone, and that after it was over, he had somewhere to go home to. He had  _ someone _ to go home to, and his family, blood and otherwise, would be here with him and there when it was done. Wherever he went now, no matter how far, he would always have a home to go back to, and he always  _ would  _ go back.

And not only because  _ she  _ would be there, Rey who was staring up at him on stage with adoring eyes, smiling as widely as ever, and maybe he was being stupidly romantic, but he suddenly did not have the slightest doubt that she was  _ always _ going to be there, and if he had to marry her at a three-ring circus like she had described that morning in order to ensure that, then that was what he was going to do.

There are some things you don’t get to choose, and maybe,  _ just maybe,  _ they were each other’s.

In a few hours, Ben would get the report from Hux that Kylo Ren had cooled out perfectly, had cleaned up his dinner with his usual gusto, that he was sound and happy and ready for whatever came next. With a horse like that in the barn -- 

What else was there to do besides dream?

How could the future be anything other than grand?

How could you feel anything other than this pure and powerful hope, like coming out of the far turn and watching the traffic in front of you evaporate, a wide, clear path opening and plenty of horse left underneath you to seize the opportunity, blue sky and brown track and white, white railings and a future as open and bright as the empty stretch to the finish line, just waiting to be seized, to be conquered, to be  _ won _ .

_ Better lucky than good _ \-- and finally, finally, Ben Solo was convinced that he was both.

* * *

  
_**The End** _


	44. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is where I leave you...
> 
> Writing this has been such an incredible experience. I've had so much fun. You are all wonderful.
> 
> Reylo forever and ever!

Kylo Ren missed the break in the Preakness and finished third, running out of track before he was able to complete his signature come-from-behind move. BB Eight won, only the sixth filly to do so in history. The longer distance of the Belmont was too far for her, however, and Kylo Ren lead the pack home by a dozen lengths, while BB Eight faded to tenth. After a long rest over the summer, BB Eight returned in October to win the Breeder’s Cup Distaff. A few weeks later, her career was brought to an abrupt end when she bowed a tendon in a workout. She was retired and the injury healed nicely. Now she spends her days on the farm, enjoying a peaceful life as a broodmare -- she is an excellent mother.

Kylo Ren scored in the Travers after taking the Belmont by storm, but was shelved for the rest of the year after chipping a knee in that race. He returned for his four-year-old year in style by winning the Donn Handicap. He also scored in the Jockey Club Gold Cup, and found victory in the Breeder’s Cup Classic that autumn at his favorite track, Belmont Park. He retired sound with much fanfare and was one of the best supported freshman sires of his year. His first foals will race this spring  -- Ben expects great things.

Amidala raced half a dozen times but showed little. Rey retired her and brought her home to the farm, where she discovered that the laid-back lifestyle of a pleasure horse was far more suited to her than the track. Amidala isn’t quite well-trained enough yet for Rey to ride, and Rey doesn’t have quite enough experience to handle her -- but they’re getting there, under the direction of Poe and Ben. They will make quite the pair when they’re ready, destined to be the best of friends for many years to come.

Rey and Ben were married a few years later, and if nobody seemed quite sure  _ which  _ Caribbean island they spent their honeymoon on, well, that was all right -- and if they returned with a distant cousin of Rey’s that nobody had ever heard about before? Well, that just proved that money really  _ could  _ buy anything. (Luke is just thrilled to be reunited with his twin sister, and to live in a house with indoor plumbing again -- Ben stocks the pond on his farm with trout, because old habits die hard and Luke is out there every morning, fishing under the rising sun.)

Leia happily handed over the reins of Resistance Racing to her daughter-in-law and found herself content to slow down after a life that had been all about the thrill of the race. She lives on the farm now, in the beautiful old farm-house she’d always dreamed of retiring to. The view can’t be matched -- her horses, her  _ legacy _ , in all their glory and goofiness play outside her windows. She doesn’t bother Rey and Ben about grandchildren, though she wouldn’t mind that eventually. Her current grandchildren have four legs and long tails, and she loves them as much as any other kind. 

Ben bought the property across the street from Resistance Racing and moved his operations there. He and Rey built a beautiful house on the grounds to live in. They keep their barns separate, however, and are fiercely competitive -- some things never change,  _ should  _ never change. Rey will never put the Organa horses in black. She promised.

After talking about it for years, Ben finally started a company to make the biomechanics software that had been his hobby for so long. This time, however, he was smart about it -- as soon as the business was off the ground, he found somebody else to run it and employed himself as a programmer instead. That’s what he always enjoyed, anyways. The field is so complex and ever-evolving that there is never any shortage of brick walls for him. He is challenged, and he is happy. He is four years sober.

Han insisted on returning to California after the Triple Crown, to his job conditioning third-rate horses for the fair circuit. This was highly seasonal work, however, and in the fall he reappeared at Jakku Downs to Ben and Leia’s lasting surprise. He came back the next year, too, and the next, each time staying a bit longer before heading back west. At some point -- and nobody was quite sure when -- he simply stayed, moving into the house with Leia and bumbling around the farm, fixing fences or lunging yearlings, never content to be still. Luke is teaching him to fish.

Poe still trains the Organa horses, and Hux the Solo horses. Though Rey has begged him to consider settling down and become the farm trainer, Poe refuses. The track is in his blood, and he will follow its call wherever that may lead. He is exactly the person he was always supposed to be, and he is happy. He thinks that his father Kes would be proud of him, and he is right. He is still in town four or five months of the year, when there is racing at Jakku Downs, and he and Ben are as close friends as ever.

Finn worked for Poe for a few more years before marrying and taking a position at Resistance Racing Farms as the head groom. He spends his time now caring for the broodmares and their foals. He is dedicated to his job and raises his babies with all the care and love of a parent. They all adore him, and even years later will recognize him and whinny a greeting. 

Chewbacca served several more years as the Resistance Racing stable pony before retiring to the farm where he shares a paddock with Amidala. She adores him and he tolerates her. Soon he will teach Finn’s eldest daughter to ride.

Alderaan lived to the ripe old age of 32 and was buried in his paddock under his favorite oak tree. They named a stakes race after him at Jakku Downs, and no one was more thrilled than Leia when one of BB Eight’s daughters won it, years later. His statue will watch over the paddock there in perpetuity. It is where he belongs. And though he has gone to wherever horses go -- and no one who has ever loved a horse does  _ not  _ believe there is a place where horses go, a place of long grass and clear water and hills to run under the light of the stars -- he is remembered.

Whenever Ben is in the paddock at Jakku Downs, which is often, he takes a moment to look up at the statue of the horse he still considers his brother. It is a reminder to him, a reminder that family is something you don’t get to choose, that it chooses you and never lets go, that it can come in all shapes and sizes and shades and no matter how far you run, you can never leave it entirely behind. Ben knows who he is now: he is a Solo, and he is an Organa; he is a horseman and he is a businessman; he is a son and a nephew and a brother and a husband, and the people he loves are never far. He is who Han Solo and Leia Organa’s son was always meant to be: he is himself.

It is enough. 

Rey is so deliriously happy that she often wonders if she fell asleep at some point before the Resurgent and is still dreaming. But every morning she wakes and the beautiful life she’s built for herself is still there; Ben is still there, sleeping next to her; her horses are there, healthy and happy; her family is there, the one she’s constructed out of odds and ends and bits and pieces, assembling by herself the belonging she had always longed for.

Rey is home, and for a person who never had a home before, that is  _ more _ than enough.

* * *

 

They had to flip a coin to decide who got the first foal out of BB Eight. Rey won. Her colt was coal-black like his father Kylo Ren, but with his mother’s wide white blaze and gentle eye. 

She and Ben were there the first time he galloped, on the training track at Resistance Racing Farms, and she let Ben set up all his equipment to film the colt, even though she didn’t really care about the results. She knew how antsy he was -- BB Eight had just weaned what would grow up to be his filly, a dainty chestnut thing with all the spark and fire and fight of her father.

And BB Eight was back in foal to Kylo Ren, due in early March, and Rey wasn’t sure how they were going to determine ownership of  _ that _ one. Another problem for another day.

The big black colt, silly as all yearlings are, having no idea who his parents were or what he was worth, knowing only that there was a thing called running and he  _ liked to run _ , galloped past as smoothly as an old pro, an easy workout to acclimatize him to this business. There would be time enough later to push him, to race the clock -- but nobody bothered for now. There would be  _ time _ .

He looked tremendous. He had his father’s height and his mother’s sleekness and fluid movement, and with four burnt orange bandages on his legs he looked like a real racehorse, ready to run today if he could only bum a ride to the track.

(Later, they’d turn him out and he’d kick up his heels and  _ run _ , just for the joy of it, just because he was a Thoroughbred and this was what he did, as carefree as anybody can be who will never know the weight of other’s expectations, the strain of other’s dreams. His dreams were his own, and they were simple. They involved soft grass, and cool water, and the people he considered his own.)

Ben spent the better part of an hour setting up his biomechanics equipment, but when the colt galloped past, emerging from the morning mist like the wraith of some old war-horse caught in an eternal cavalry charge, he didn’t even look at it. He had eyes only for the colt.

“Will he be any good, you think?” Rey asked him softly, wistfully.

“Nah,” Ben chuckled, drawing her into his arms to bury his face into the hollow between her neck and shoulder. She felt him smile into her skin. “Probably just lucky.”

Rey smiled too. “I got his registration back from the Jockey Club yesterday,” she said.

Ben lifted his head, interested. “What did you end up naming him?”

Rey was grinning now. “It had to be something strong,” she said. “Something to start a dynasty. A name to sail a thousand ships. Something you can scream as they’re coming down the stretch and not feel like a fool.”

Ben watched her expectantly, his familiar crooked half-smile easy on his face.

“I named him Skywalker,” said Rey.

* * *

 

And the names and the faces might change, but some things--

Some things spring eternal.

Hope, for one.

Dreams, for another.

And  _ love _ the hopeless romantics might whisper. And they wouldn't be wrong. You wouldn't  _ dare  _ prove them wrong.

And there will always be horses here, no matter how many years removed from when horses fell out of fashion to internal combustion, no matter how many buildings spring up around it, no matter how many farms make way for groomed suburbs and plump children who will never haul hay, will never curry a coat, will never rise at 4AM to care for four hard hooves and the fire connecting them. There will always be horses here, kicking up heels in the dew-laden grass, running with the ghosts of their grandparents in the pre-dawn mist, as carefree as horses always are. Wobbly foals will balance on four new-found, too-long legs; weanlings will careen down the hill for their breakfasts, jostling each other for position, already learning the family trade; the broodmares will watch with the wise eyes of mothers, who understand the vagaries of the young, and maybe, just maybe, remember for a moment the fire and the beat of the racetrack.

Here there will be horses. And they will do what horses are born to do:

They will run.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dedicated to my Amidala, my lovely silver filly Purrfect Smoke (2006-2009).
> 
> And to my wonderful readers, who made writing this worth it.
> 
> MAY THE HORSE BE WITH YOU ALL!


End file.
